


Wait for Me to Come Home

by Seagreen27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angels are Dicks, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Hates Witches, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Handprint Kink, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Reapers, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Starts with Lazarus Rising from Cas' perspective, Then diverges to an alternative story, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seagreen27/pseuds/Seagreen27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is given orders to retrieve Dean from hell, but when the angel rebuilt the body of the Righteous Man, he fell in love him, and accidentally intertwined a dash of grace in amongst the human's soul, leaving an indelible mark. </p><p>After Dean returns from hell and goes back to hunting, Bobby finds a case for Sam & Dean where people have stopped dying. But not everyone, just those whose souls are perfectly in balance and so should have been collected by Death himself. They realize that a witch has trapped Death, and discover the only way to break a spell is with another spell. </p><p>The brothers  have to collect all of the ingredients for the spell and find a witch of the right bloodline to cast it. They are told that an angel is watching over them, and they should use all of the resources they can, but can Dean overcome his stubbornness to actually ask for help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Potential in an Acorn, a Jewellery Box, and a Man

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Ed Sheeran's Photograph (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NWnF_cdtIA)
> 
> This line in particular: You can fit me, Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen, Next to your heartbeat where I should be, Keep it deep within your soul
> 
> Thank you to my new beta Linoresearch, and to acehardy3 for their support!!

Castiel never built a home in heaven, as some other angels did. During quiet times, when there were no orders to follow, he preferred to take refuge on earth amongst the beauty of God’s creation. Castiel would slip his grace into the most beautiful blossom, or a single grain of sand on a deserted beach, pouring his power in until his consciousness joined with the vessel, and he could feel the sun’s power on his petals, hear the rush of the sea as foam tipped waves moved towards him. He passed a few hundred years inside an oak tree. His spirit growing as the tree grew; from acorn, to sapling, to broad sprawling oak. There was peace in the warmth from the dappled sunlight on his leaves and the movement of the gentle wind that stirred his branches, and he found a simple kind of joy in the conversations of lovers that met beneath his boughs, exchanging quiet promises of forever as they carved their names.

Castiel only took a human vessel if orders required it. It was always a challenge. The human world was noisy and confusing, even in the early years, when there were far fewer people to deal with. It only got worse as the years went on. As humanity boomed and spread to every corner of the earth, building great cities and changing the world as they went, Castiel was sometimes drawn to objects which were precious to their owners. These items were so loved; the owner unknowingly imbued a tiny fragment of their soul within, meaning that Castiel was able to learn their stories, marvelling at the beauty of the tiny point of light that was sharing the space with him, settled in beside his grace. Sometimes Castiel was so fascinated by the stories that he would expand his grace beyond the confines of the object, to become aware of the life going on around him, observing and learn about humanity without having to deal with awkward interactions.

One of Castiel’s favourite times was the decade he spent inside a jewellery box, which had been handed down from mother to daughter, across three generations. He settled in the box just as it was given to a baby girl on the occasion of her first birthday. Castiel pushed his grace through the wood and enamel covering the box, into the three inlaid hummingbirds -- beautifully crafted in shell on the lid -- and further still, into the music box embedded in the base. There were stories there, hidden inside; stories of the girl’s mother and grandmother, memories attached to rings and necklaces, jewels long since lost or discarded.

Castiel watched as the baby grew; he saw her take her first steps, start school, learn to dance, learn to write and to read, heard her speak stories out loud, as if she knew someone was listening, all set to the tinny sound of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty Waltz, which played whenever the girl or her mother turned the key on the back of the box. Every year, on her birthday, the girl’s mother gave her something new to put into the jewellery box. It was not always jewellery. There were other things, small but important things; like a precious stone, or a tiny photograph in a matching frame. With each new addition that the girl carried around, and loved, Castiel learned more about the girl’s life, expanding his grace into each one when they were returned.

The peace he enjoyed in that refuge came to an end not long after the girl's tenth birthday. While Castiel was learning the tales attached to a beautiful piece of tiger’s eye the girl had recently added to her collection, he was summoned back to heaven. He withdrew his grace from the jewellery box reluctantly, but orders were orders, so he left the box and the girl behind, without another thought.

***

Many years later, when Castiel had again returned to his oak tree, with his consciousness curled up in its trunk, and his grace spread through every root, branch and leaf, a new order came down from heaven.  Castiel had been chosen to lead the garrison into hell, on a mission to rescue one soul, one man. He did not know why he had been given this task, but it was not his place to question it. He reluctantly left the sanctuary of his oak tree, and entered hell, following the paths that had been burnt into his mind along with his orders. As he sank through the dark layers of hell, passing tortured souls who begged for redemption and demons out for blood, Castiel thought longingly of the peace he had found wrapped in the clean-earth and green of his tree, and looked forward to returning when his mission was complete.

It was in one of the darkest depths of hell that he eventually came across the man he had been ordered to save. When he laid his grace on Dean Winchester, something sparked within Castiel. It felt as if he had been kissed by lightning.  He examined the soul, drawing it closer and clasping it within his arms. He realised he was holding something that was already special to a precious few, and could become important to the whole of humanity. Castiel had never seen so much potential before, not inside the tiny acorn that had become his oak tree, or in a beautifully crafted ring that embodied the promise of a couple’s relationship. He longed to curl up inside the light, take shelter, and learn its stories, but he knew that he still had a job to do, and that was not part of it.

Castiel returned to earth and began to weave a new form that was able to contain the beauty and potential he had seen in the darkness of hell. When the vessel was ready, Castiel held out the glowing light and paused for a long moment, basking in its perfection. The universe tilted on its axis, and suddenly this tiny soul was the most important thing in his universe. Just as a human leaves a trace of soul on their most precious items, as Castiel laid a hand on Dean Winchester’s arm to push the light into his body, he unknowingly imbued him with a touch of his grace, forging a claim on his heart and soul.

When his task was done, Castiel was hit with a terrible sense of loss. He had never felt anything like it at the end of any other mission. He hovered over Dean, unsure where to go next, when he felt the familiar flutter of new orders within his mind. This time, they contained an undertone of sympathy, of understanding.

 _‘This man is important,’_ they said. _‘Watch over him, and protect him.’_

Castiel gazed at Dean's form, and longed to take up residence within the beautiful soul he had just sewn back into his prone body. But it was too much, too soon. Instead Castiel decided to watch, taking his true form he would wait, and reveal himself at the proper moment.

Castiel watched as the precious man dug his way out of his grave, saddened that he was unable to help in his incorporeal form. He was not used to the sensation of sadness and could not understand why he was feeling it now. When Dean stumbled into a nearby shop, Castiel tried to speak to him, to let him know he was safe, that he was not alone. But Dean could not hear his words. Instead they caused him pain, and Castiel could not understand it. He had believed Dean would be able to hear him after all they had already been through together.  After that, Castiel put a little more distance between himself and Dean, wondering how he could watch over this man if he could not communicate.

Castiel sighed as he realised what had to be done.  He did not enjoy taking a human vessel. Everything seemed more intense, as though seeing life through the limited mind of a human made everything more concentrated. He was determined to try to communicate again before he had to resort to that

Dean did not hear the gentle flutter of wings that had signalled Castiel's departure. He lay curled up on the floor of the gas station, his ears still ringing, shattered glass all around him. When he closed his eyes he felt a momentary loss, the absence of something he could not put his finger on, but he did not have time to dwell on it.  Dean had just dug himself out of his own grave, and there were more important things to think about, like who, or what, had brought him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 25/01/2015 I have updated this chapter after Linoresearch has come on board and kicked me into shape! The essential story is the same but hopefully it flows better now.


	2. A Handprint and a Necklace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean discovers a strange mark on his arm, and Castiel finds a vessel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter that covers Lazarus Rising from Cas' persepctive. The next chapter moves fully away from this and into original story.

Dean tracked Sam to Bobby’s junk-yard. After the tests had proved he wasn’t a demon, or a shape shifter, or a ghost, or any one of the other things Bobby tested him for, they spent hours catching Dean up on what he had missed, and speculating wildly about what could have brought Dean back from the dead, and why.

 They drank beer on the porch until it got too dark to see each other clearly. Dean decided he’d had enough conversation, and made his way toward his room, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder for a second as he walked past. He sat on the bed without bothering to turn on the light, the room was lit only by a patch of pale moonlight on the covers. Dean revelled in the quiet.

 He sighed as he stood, stumbled to the bathroom, and waited for the water to run hot before splashing his face. Dean stared at his dripping face in the mirror, and wondered at the fact he looked exactly the same. Surely he should have scars, some physical marks to show what he had been through? As he looked as his reflection, he felt the memories his sub-conscious had been suppressing start to rise up, threatening to overwhelm him. Dean pushed them down stubbornly, and pulled his shirt roughly over his head. He needed a shower, needed to wash away the dirt of the memories that lurked at the edges of his mind. As he turned to switch on the water he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, something different, something new. He looked back at the mirror and stared. A large red mark now covered the top of his left arm. He looked slowly from the mirror down to his arm, hoping irrationally, that it was an illusion, a trick of the light, or a flaw in the mirror, and that it would not be there in real life.

 It was still there, and Dean could see the shape of it now, a perfect handprint burned into his flesh. His mind whirled as he stared at it. Was this the grisly reminder of torture he had been half expecting and half dreading? He cursed under his breath as he fitted his hand over the top. It was smaller than his hand, though the fingers were a little longer. As he rested his hand over the mark he felt a tingling sensation. It did not feel bad, just surprising. It felt warm in his body, but there was an edge to it, an ache, a feeling that something was missing. It was as if he had turned to speak to someone, only to realise they had already walked away. Refusing to analyze his feelings for too long, he shrugged, put his t-shirt back on, and went looking for Sam and Bobby. They needed to know about the new development.

 ***

 Castiel was still getting used to inhabiting a human vessel. After the second attempt to communicate with Dean Winchester had failed, he had searched the world for someone appropriate. He stood on the beach where he had once inhabited a grain of sand, and listened to the crash of waves through human ears. His hearing was still better than an ordinary human, even in the vessel, but he missed being able to hear the song of the ocean that lingered beneath the waves. It was well beyond the range of sound any human could perceive.

 Though he was not happy about being separated from his charge, Castiel thought it best to spend some time getting used to his new human vessel before returning to engage in communication with Dean Winchester. Castiel was confident he would know if anything harmful was approaching Dean, even with many miles between them. There had been a twinge of discomfort, from his charge making contact with some low level demons, but there was no real spike in Dean's level of concern and so Castiel felt no need to act.

The trench coat his vessel was wearing when he invited him in reminded Castiel of the wings that were now hidden inside his grace. He liked it, and the noise the coat made as it flapped in the sea breeze was almost a sufficient substitute to the feel of wind fluttering through his feathers. He was thinking about whether the tie was too constrictive, and whether he should remove it, when he felt a gentle nudge at the edge of his consciousness. It was subtle, and of no more concern to him than a fly settling on his wing.

 ‘I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.’ He heard the summons, but he swatted them away.

 'I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel?’ The next time it happened, the nudge was more insistent, more annoying.

 ‘I command you, show me your face! Show me your face, now!’ The third time it happened it was downright demanding.

 Castiel connected to the thread of the summons, and sent out a pulse of warning to deter the fly from proceeding any further, in case they became damaged. The final time the connection was made, it was if a television signal had been opened up. He could see her, Pamela, dark hair and wide eyes. But she could see him as well - it was a psychic link. Bypassing the vessel he was inhabiting, she saw straight into the heart of his true form.

 Castiel tried to sever the connection but he was not fast enough. He saw flames starting to burst from her eyes, she had put too much of herself into the link between them. He watched with regret as her eyes burned away. She screamed with the pain of it, with the horror, and the shock. Castiel saw it all; until her soul finally withdrew far enough that he could sever the connection.

The next time Castiel felt a pull on his consciousness it was much more powerful. It was the irresistible tug of a summoning spell that included his true name. Out of curiosity as much as anything else, he transported himself towards the source of the call, landing among the stumps of a harvested field, close to an old barn. As soon as he landed, Castiel knew Dean Winchester was inside. Beyond that his senses were clouded, thick and slow, like looking through fog. The barn was heavily warded, painted and scorched with so many symbols it made Castiel's head spin to look at them.

As Castiel waved the doors aside and entered the barn his attention was wholly on Dean, hoping to see a flicker of recognition in his face. He barely spared a glance for the older man, even as his vessel was blasted with salt rounds and bullets, ripping holes in his coat. Castiel’s hope that Dean would recognise him died on the point of a demon-killing knife, as Dean stabbed him in the chest, just above the vessel’s heart. It was clear that Castiel needed to speak with Dean alone, so he pulled the blade from his chest and put the other man to sleep, with the lightest touch of Castiel’s fingers to the man’s wrinkled brow..

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” Castiel informed Dean, but he did not seem to be listening.

 “I’m an Angel of the Lord,” he said when Dean asked what he was. Dean did not believe him.

 Castiel tilted his head and looked at Dean, perplexed. He did not remember Dean's soul being confused or unable to grasp new concepts. With a sigh of resignation that was covered by a rumble of thunder, Castiel made his wings appear with a single thought, showing them for a moment before returning them to their incorporeal state. That seemed to shock Dean into belief, though it was difficult for Castiel to tell – Dean’s physical body was much harder to read than his bare soul had been. But even then, Dean still doubted. He doubted his worth, his importance, and his right to be saved, and for Castiel, that was the hardest part. He had seen the potential of Dean’s soul, the glorious light he contained, and Castiel vowed right then, that he would make this man understand just how beautiful and precious he was and ensure he was able to reach the full potential he had seen in him. To achieve this, Castiel needed to stay close, but Dean's reaction to him had already proved he would not likely accept a human vessel following him around.

 Castiel looked at Dean and saw the tiny pinprick light of a fragment of soul, hanging just below the neck of his t-shirt. A necklace hung from Dean's throat, a simple black string and a face cast in metal hanging at the end. Within the time it would take to blink twice, Castiel sent his human vessel home, and returned to the barn in his true form - invisible to Dean and the other man. Castiel drew in his grace and floated over the pendant, seeking the warm touch of Dean's soul inside it. Castiel felt comforted as he wrapped his grace around the swirling ball of light. He learnt that the necklace was a gift from Dean's brother, that it was one of Dean’s most precious possessions.

 Castiel settled down to watch over and protect Dean, doing his duty, just as Heaven had dictated. There was something different this time, however, this time, for the first time, Castiel felt joy in following his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next chapter will be uploaded shortly too!


	3. A Haunting in Lawrence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds details of a haunted house in Lawrence and Dean agrees they should check it out. What they find turns out to be closer to home then either of them expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted an extra chapter this week so as to get into actual original story sooner. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"Dean, do you recognise this house?" Sam’s voice broke the silence that had descended over Bobby’s study as they searched for new cases. It had not taken long to slip back into the routine they had had before Dean had been dragged to hell, and Dean was enjoying the quiet.

"I've seen a lot of houses, Sam. Any reason this one should ring a bell?" Dean leaned back in his chair, and stretched his arms above his head, to working out the kinks in his back from working over the laptop for too long.

"It’s in Lawrence, I just wondered if it had any relevance to us?" Sam asked, looking down at the picture.

"I don’t recognise it." Dean replied with a shrug. "Is there something going on there?" He looked over at Sam, interested now, particularly if it got him out of doing research. He still hated it, and he had moaned like hell when they started until Bobby growled at him to shut up.

"The house has been on the market for a year after the last owner died there. Nobody wanted to move in to look after the place because every time anyone visited things had been moved around, and there were cold spots that would come and go around the house. The local paper ran the story, and no one’s wanted to look at the house since.”

"So, you're thinking a ghost?"

"Yeah, I mean, it sure sounds like it. Might be worth taking a look. Ease you back in the game."

Dean rocked back on his chair and raised an eyebrow at Sam. "I don't need easing back in, I'm feeling good. I'll beat you in an arm wrestle right now if you like, bitch."

Sam snorted and muttered, "Jerk," as he shuffled the papers he had been looking through. "You wanna go or not?"

Dean thought about it. The last time they had returned to Lawrence he hadn’t wanted to go back, but they hadended up saving a mom and her two kids. Some of his worst memories originated in that town, but then again, some of his most treasured memories came from there as well - those from when his family was still together, the earliest years of his childhood, before Azazel came and ripped them apart. He was hesitant about going back, but there was also a sense of inevitability, of rightness to it, as if taking his newly formed souls back to where it had all started was closing the circle, ending a journey he had unknowingly started at just four years old.

He snatched the papers out of Sam’s hand, grinning when Sam scowled at him. "So tell me more about the last owner,” Dean said. “Then we'll plan a route."

As they crossed the state boundary, Dean was absently humming the half remembered rise and fall of some kind of waltz, lost in the memory of his mother baking, moving around the kitchen with a floral apron around her waist, while he sat on the counter and ‘helped,’ by mixing and licking the spoon. He did not often indulge in these memories, but at that moment it felt appropriate.

He glanced at Sam, who was snoring gently beside him. He looked peaceful, or as peaceful as it was possible for a hunter to be. When they were kids, curled up together in motel beds, through cold winter nights when Dad was out hunting, Dean had shared stories about their mom. But now he wondered if he had made it worse for Sam, if Dean’s memories of her might have been nothing but a painful reminder that Sam had none of his own. It was only when Sam brought up the possible haunting in Lawrence that Dean realised they had not talked about their Mom in years, perhaps not since the case in their old house. Sam never asked for stories, and Dean never volunteered them.

***

Castiel remained inside the necklace while the brothers discussed what to do next. He was content to wrap his grace around the fragment of Dean's soul, learning everything it had seen while Dean had been wearing it. He saw the immediate attachment Dean had for the necklace when Sam gave it to him, the circumstances around that Christmas, and Dean's feelings towards his father because of it. Castiel saw the hunts Dean had been on since he started wearing the necklace, and admired the skill that Dean showed in fighting, in strategizing, and his innovative techniques for battling foes. Castiel winced at the memory of injuries and broken bones, and felt glad that Dean would not feel the lingering effects of them, since Castiel had restored his body completely, as if they had never happened.

Occasionally Castiel tuned in to what was happening around him, but without anything new to hold his interest during the long journey Castiel sank back to learn more about Dean’s past. It was the vibration of Dean's humming that drew Castiel out a second time, the necklace resonating in time to the soft melody. Castiel recognised the tune Dean was singing, though he could not place it for a moment. He cast his mind back following the familiar notes through time, through his own history, until he caught the tinny sound of a music box, and smiled, at the memory of a young girl, in a pink leotard, turning clumsy pirouettes in her bedroom, spinning along to the same tune.

As they pulled up outside of the house in Lawrence, Castiel pulled his grace from the necklace, and hovered invisibly outside the car. He looked at the house, frowning when there was a flicker of movement at the corner of a window. He was unsurprised when he saw a light haired woman standing there, watching them. She gave him a sad smile, and abruptly disappeared. He could not sense any malicious intent from her; in fact she looked familiar, and Castiel was content to let the brothers enter the house. In truth, he was interested to witness, first-hand, what the Winchester brothers did best.

Dean and Sam slammed the doors shut behind them as they got out of the car, and stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the house from the picture. It was a typical suburban house, with a white-painted front that had seen better days. Blank windows overlooked the road, with no curtains to hide the fact that the rooms beyond were bare. Sam and Dean took the steps up to the red front door, trying to make it look like they belonged, even though nobody was around to see them. Sam glanced at Dean over his shoulder before trying the door handle, letting out a surprised huff when the door swung open easily, without a creak.

“Well that’s never good", murmured Dean, reaching for the sawn-off shotgun at his back.

Sam nodded; reaching for his own gun before stepping through the door. Dean followed close on his heels, completely unaware that Castiel had come through the door behind him. They checked the house methodically, and in silence, apart from the occasional creaking floorboard. Dean held his old EMF Walkman out on front of him. It stayed stubbornly quiet until they reached the kitchen, where it started going crazy, the LED’s lit up one after the other, the device whining loudly.

"Whoa," Dean muttered, "looks like we've got a live one." Sam looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and Dean smirked back at him, cataloguing the familiar expression (bitch face number 23, aka, _I’ve must have heard that joke a million times_ ).

"That's just the kind of joke your mother used to make when she was out on a hunt with your grandfather and me." A woman said softly, from behind the two brothers. They both whirled round, raising their guns, pointing them at the grey-haired woman who stood there. She had familiar green eyes, and was wearing a green blouse that matched them. She held up her hands in a pacifying gesture. "Please boys, I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean, never at his best when startled, growled, "Lady, what the hell are you doing sneaking up on people like that..."

"Dean!" Sam cut him off. "Did... Did you say, mother? And grandfather?" Dean glared at Sam, silently asking if he was seriously considering listening to a ghost.

"Yes, Sam. I've been waiting for you for a very long time. I couldn't draw you here until the time was right, until you needed me. But now, I can sense it coming. It’s time for you to have what you need." The woman smiled, but there was no joy in it. She flickered like a flame, as she moved closer to them both. At the reminder of what they were facing Dean raised his weapon again, but Sam reached out and pushed it down, shaking his head.

Dean glared at him in return. "She's the ghost we came here to gank, Sam, you running away from a job now?"

"I'm not running away from anything,” Sam said. “I just think we should hear what she has to say." Despite his words, Sam stiffened when she appeared in front of him. She raised a hand to his cheek, and his breath started to freeze and cloud the air.

"Your mother would be so proud of you both. You grew up to be such strong boys.” She shook her head sadly. “She wanted a better life for you than this. The life on the road, the danger, she thought all that was behind her. When she had you." She said, looking at Dean with an intense gaze.

"She just wanted a better life for you," she repeated, quietly. "But, it’s so rare that a hunter gets out and stays out. I know the same demon that got me eventually got her. Sick bastard had a thing about family lines."

Sam looked shocked to hear the curse from his grandmother’s mouth. Dean just smirked, ready with a quip that Sam silenced with a hard look.

"I should have taught her more, taught her how to protect herself, how to protect you. But I never had a chance to give her my book of shadows."

"Wait, what?" Dean interrupted.

"You're a witch?" Sam said at the same time.

"Yes. A witch, and a seer; I come from a long line of witches.” She frowned as she noticed Dean’s horrified expression. “Oh don't look at me like that Dean Winchester, I know the sort you've encountered before, power hungry devils with demon pacts. I had inherited power. Power passed from mothers to daughters over hundreds of years. We have nothing in common with those demon-addled hags. It's a shame you didn’t have a sister, because the line died with your mother."

"Wait, was Mom...?" Dean looked like his whole world was about to fall down around his ears. “Was Mom a witch?” He had always made his feelings known on the subject of witches.

"In theory yes, but I never got to teach her to utilise her full potential. If I had, maybe she wouldn't have had to die the way she did,” the ghost mused, her image fading slightly before snapping back into existence, more substantial than ever. “But that's neither here nor there. I didn't call you here to tell you all the family secrets. We don't have that much time."

Castiel had remained silent, listening to the ghost’s conversation with the brothers. They were still unaware of his presence, but the phantom cast a glance towards him every so often. He could sense she was telling the truth, and could see the family resemblance between her and the Winchester boys, Dean in particular. It was strange seeing those green eyes he already felt he knew so well on the face of someone else. He wondered if Dean's mother had also had those eyes, and paused, that thought triggering a memory, of a girl in a pink leotard, twirling for her mother. Did they both have green eyes? The woman was speaking again, and Castiel dismissed the thought so that he could listen in on the remaining conversation.

"Boys,” she said. “There’s a loose floorboard over there, third one in from the wall. Inside is my book of shadows, and a jewellery box. I want you to take them. There’s something bad coming, something that could mean the end of everything, and I need you to have as many tools as possible to fight it."

Dean lifted the floorboard, and true to her word there was a book underneath, leather-bound in blue and with a symbol on the front that looked a lot like their protection tattoos. There was a box beside it, made of dark wood, with three shell hummingbirds embedded in the lid. He lifted them out, coughing when he disturbed the thick layer of dust that coated them.

"Can you tell us what’s coming?" Sam asked, urgently.

Their grandmother shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I don’t know much. The sight is a peculiar gift, giving hints of what’s to come but not the full picture. I know the fate of the world is in your hands. I know you will need to perform a spell to save mankind. The ingredients of the spell are powerful, and I began to gather them when your mother was still a child. I gave them to her as gifts and she kept them in that box. I'm hoping you already have some of the pieces I gave her, and that you can find the rest."

“Fate of the world. Save all mankind. Lady, we’ve done this kinda shit before. Isn’t it someone else’s turn yet?” Dean snarked as he stood up. The ghost of his grandmother drifted over to him and he was suddenly confronted with a short, angry woman, glaring at him from inches away.

“You listen to me, Dean Winchester. I didn’t haunt this house for over twenty years just so you could come in here and sass me. You can’t deny your destiny. I know you’ve literally been through hell, but you should still respect your elders. Now, open the damn box!”

His grandmother moved back, and Dean let out a breath that misted in the air before him. He opened the box slowly, and with reverence, as he realised he was holding something that his mom had held. Inside was a silver bracelet, heavy with charms, and a lock of hair bound in a red ribbon.

"Dean, in a minute I'm going to need you to burn that hair so that I can finally be at peace with my husband, and my daughter.” Deanna vanished suddenly, reappearing behind Sam who let out an undignified yelp of surprise as he whirled around to meet her.

“But first I need to tell you something important. Something that will help you in your search. For the first ten years of Mary's life, I sensed that she was being watched over, and we used to joke about her having a guardian angel. In the days after her tenth birthday, that feeling faded. I wasn’t angry that she’d been abandoned, just grateful that they’d looked after my girl while they could."

Castiel’s attention shifted away from Dean, who was running his hands over the birds on the top of the jewellery box, to the ghost. She was looking straight at him. He understood that her words were meant for him as much for her grandsons.

"I sense that the angel has returned to our family,” she said. “And I’m glad you have someone to watch over you through this difficult time. He’ll be able to help you locate what you require, so make sure you ask for help." Sam and Dean glanced at each other, exchanging a knowing look.

"Dean, light that hair up would you? I need to rest now." Dean pulled his lighter out and flicked open the lid, slowly bringing it towards the bundle of hair. As the hair caught and she began to burn away, both Dean and Sam felt the whisper of a kiss against their foreheads. It lingered long after she was gone, cool against their skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/01/15 - I now have a completely impartial beta reader! Many thanks to Linoresearch for agreeing to beta for me. As such and to improve the quality going forward I'm going to give them a chance to do their thing before I post the next chapter so there might be a bit of a delay but normal service should resume soon!
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments welcome as ever!
> 
> Come find me on twitter or tumblr!  
> Twtter: spn_sea_green  
> Tumblr: Seagreen27


	4. A Date with Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brother's mull over what they learnt from their Grandmother, and learn what she was warning them about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to get up. Life has gone a bit crazy! Chapter 5 won't be far behind this one hopefully!
> 
> Just to note - there is a slightly gory description of a corpse in this chapter, we don't think it's any worse then canon, but just wanted to put a quick warning here just in case.

The boys spent most of the drive in silence as they headed back to Bobby’s, mulling over what they had learnt.

As they passed over the state line into South Dakota, Sam finally spoke. “I can’t believe we met our grandmother,” he said, a note of awe in his voice. “And we get to read her book of shadows, learn more about her. “ Dean grunted, still not sure about the idea of having witches in his family. “Do you think it was Castiel that Deanna meant was watching over Mom?” Sam asked.  
  
“How should I know, Sam? I’ve only met the guy once. That I remember anyway. And this is the angel that burnt out Pamela’s eyes, put Bobby to sleep with a touch, and didn’t blink when I stabbed him in the chest. Doesn’t really scream Family Guardian Angel, more Avenging Angel Dick.” Dean rumbled.  
  
“So you don’t think we should ask him for help?”  
  
“I think we need to do more research before we even think about it. Don’t want to involve divine beings in our business if we don’t have to.” Dean rubbed the side of his face with one hand, tightening the other hand on the steering wheel of his baby. He was tired. It had been a long drive, and although he had enjoyed the routine of it, after being away for so long, he longed to crawl into bed and stop thinking.  
  
“Dean Winchester, suggesting we do research before barrelling in? You really don’t want to get this Castiel involved.” Dean just raised an eyebrow at him, as Sam grinned back.  
  
When they got to Bobby’s, Dean decided that Sam could fill Bobby in on what happened. He was too damn tired to go over it all again. He stumbled up the stairs and into his room, flopping down onto the bed without bothering to turn on the lights or take of his clothes. He hoped he would just fall asleep, but his brain appeared to have other ideas, winding back and re-playing the events of the day.

His Grandmother had been a witch; his Mother had inherited that power. It was a difficult pill to swallow. He had seen the damage, death and destruction caused by sneaky little hex bags, and knew some of the horrible ingredients that went into them. Deanna had said her power was different; that it didn’t come from demons, but Dean could not help wondering about what nasty ingredients she might have used.  
  
Eventually, Dean's breathing stilled, and he drifted into the dark of a welcome sleep.

 ***

Castiel decided he wanted to get a look at the man who had spoken about him so disparagingly earlier that day. He pulled his grace from the necklace and hovered at the side of the bed. He had not realised what his actions might look like to Dean, or what meaning he would attach to them. It was difficult to accept that the Righteous Man did not trust him enough to involve him, or ask for his help, especially after the advice Dean’s grandmother had given him. Dean did not want his help yet, and Castiel supposed that he would have to wait until he was asked or risk it not being accepted at all. He had to hope that Dean wouldn’t be too stubborn to ask.

Dean began to stir. Castiel held still, ready to pull himself back into Dean's amulet if necessary. Although he knew Dean could not see him, now that Castiel understood about Deanna, he did wonder if Dean could sense his presence, consciously or not. His eyes stayed shut, but Castiel could see agitated movement under Dean’s eyelids as he started to moan, moving his head from left to right.

"No," he murmured. "Alastair, I said no." He continued to mutter words and phrases, getting louder until suddenly the noise stopped, and Dean fell silent.

Castiel wondered if Dean was about to wake, if he had moved past the dream stage of sleep, when he realised with horror, that Dean was stuck fast inside the dream, trapped in a terror beyond words. Dean strained against invisible bonds, mouth clamped shut as if to keep words from spilling out. He began to thrash about, as if trying to fight against invisible enemies. Belatedly Castiel realised Dean was reliving moments from hell. He cursed to himself in Enochian. He thought Dean was coping well with his return to life and normality.

Castiel rested a tendril of grace against Dean's forehead, prepared to use his healing powers to comfort and help Dean's subconscious fight the nightmares and move on to happier memories – he knew Dean would not be able to feel his interference. But before Castiel could use his power, Dean stilled, a peaceful expression drifting over his face. Castiel suddenly felt more at peace as well, a knot of tension he had not realised he was carrying suddenly felt easy as it relaxed. Dean must have been able to move the dream away by himself, or had simply fallen more deeply asleep.

Castiel pulled himself back into the amulet wrapped around Dean’s neck, and nestled there. He did not need to sleep, but he felt at peace as he listened to Dean's deep breaths.

***

Two weeks later, Sam and Dean were at Bobby’s table, going over Deanna’s book of shadows for a third or fourth time. Dean had taken to wearing his mother’s charm bracelet, even though it was a tight fit. The charms jingled as he pushed the book away and stretched his arms above his head, easing tight muscles.

“I guess grandma being a witch isn’t such a bad thing,” he finally acknowledged. “At least there are no dead animal bones, or human bones, for that matter.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Some of these spells are really cool though,” Sam said excitedly, as he pulled the book towards him. “Even some of the mundane kitchen stuff. Imagine never burning anything ever again.”

“But some of us can actually cook and don’t need magic to do it.”

Sam glared at Dean (Bitch face number 73, aka, _at least I can make a salad, bitch_ ), before speaking again. “So there are seven elements for each spell. From what I’ve worked out, each ingredient represents one of the five senses, plus heart and soul,” Sam continued. “For the spell to stop things from burning there would be charred paper for sight, a fire alarm for hearing, burnt toast for smell, spilt water for touch, overdone bacon for taste, favorite food for heart, and a recipe for soul.”

“Fascinating,” Dean drawled as he got up to get a beer. He slumped into the chair when he got back, and took a swig from the cool bottle, hoping Sam would take the hint that he did not actually care, but Sam was on a roll.

“There’s even spells for exorcising ghosts! That would have made our lives easier. A pair of glasses, sheet music or a recording of Chopin’s funeral march, formaldehyde, salt, iron, a photograph or depiction the deceased, and their most treasured object.” Sam ran his finger down the list as he recited the ingredients written in their grandmother’s neat handwriting.

“That doesn’t sound easier,” Dean said, doubtfully. “Imagine trying to gather all those ingredients with a pissed off ghost trying to kick your ass.”

“I think the point is that you gather the ingredients in advance,” Sam countered. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway, if power passes through the female line we can’t cast these spells.” He sat back, looking dejected.

Dean tried to hide it but he was relieved. The last thing they needed was to start getting mixed up in witchy hocus-pocus. He was still worried about the warning his grandmother had been trying to pass on. There wasn’t anything in the book that gave them more detail and no clues about what they needed to do.

Bobby walked through the door, stomping across the room to lay two newspapers on the table, covering Deanna’s book and making Sam scowl. Bobby glared back, and pointed with a blunt dirt-smudged finger. “Did either of you two chuckle-heads notice that people have stopped dying in two states?”  
  


“What? Where?” Dean dropped his arms onto the table, charms jangling at his wrist.  
  


“There’s some in Seattle, and a couple more in Phoenix. Doctors are calling them medical miracles, but reading between the lines, it still don’t sound like they’re in a good way. Sounds like the poor schmucks should be dead but no-one turned up.”  
  


“Maybe Death’s gone on holiday?” Dean mused, leaning back on his chair, as Sam pulled his laptop over from the other side of the table, and typed quickly into it.  
  


“Nope,” Sam said. “There’ve still been some deaths recorded in both cities in the last week.”  
  


“Do we think this is what dear old grandma was warning us about?” Dean asked. “Four people who should be dead seems a bit small scale for her to be hanging around for thirty years, just to warn us.” Dean said.  
  


“Maybe, but I guess even if it isn’t, it’s still worth taking a look,” Sam decided.  
  


“I guess we’re going to Phoenix then. Man, that place is hot in August!” Dean complained.  
  


“Yeah, times like this you almost wish you had air conditioning in your Baby, right?” Dean pulled a face, repeating the question back to Sam in a mocking tone as he stalked out of the room to go pack.

By the time they got to Phoenix, it was not a small scale phenomena any more. Both boys had to acknowledge it was looking more and more likely to be what Deanna had warned them about. Sam was tracking news channels on his phone as they drove, and the numbers of people who could not seem to die was fast approaching a hundred. The media could no longer pass them off as medical miracles, but were still reporting increasing figures daily in puzzled tones. It seemed strange that no newspaper had included an interview or even a comment from any of the people who had been affected. Dean thought it was odd that no-one had been willing to talk to the press, whether for the fame or the money.  
  
Dean realized why as soon as they walked into the first patient’s room. He stopped dead in his tracks. Behind him, Sam had to resort to a quick side-step to avoid a collision. Dean hardly noticed, he could not stop staring at the man in the bed.  
  
The man was clearly still alive, sitting up and watching the TV mounted in the corner of the room, channel hopping as if there was nothing wrong. But something was very wrong. His face and neck were tinged a pale, sickly green, and the swelling round his eyes was beginning to look unpleasantly toad-like. His hair had started to fall out. What was left was patchy on his head, with sores and flaking skin on his exposed scalp. The hand that held the remote was shrunken, his fingernails blackened and sinking back into his hand. Dean had been in enough morgues to know what a four day old corpse looked like. The guy had just not stopped moving yet. The room smelt strongly of disinfectant and floral air freshener, but underneath that was the stink of rot, dank yet somehow sweet. As Dean started to shiver, he realised the room was being kept very cold, presumably to delay the decaying process. He looked towards Sam, wanted to tell him to go, to protect him from the sight, but he knew Sam would not agree, and anyway, he needed Sam's help.

Movement on Dean's left made him realise that there was someone else in the room with them. A middle aged woman stood up from the hard-looking plastic chair in the corner. Her dark blonde hair was scraped back into a tight bun, and she was wearing a heavy winter coat and gloves, despite the fact that it was August, in Phoenix. She took a couple of steps towards them, and then walked past them out of the door, beckoning for them to join her. Dean sighed in relief when they got back to the main corridor and the goosebumps of both cold and shock began to fade from his skin.

"Whatever you guys want to ask, you can ask me. You don't have to bother my father." The woman's voice was quiet, but sharp. Dean was close enough to see that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, the bags underneath made her look as though she had not slept in days. At least four days, Dean thought. He did not think he could sleep in this situation either.

Sam looked at Dean for guidance. When none came he looked back to the woman, and spoke in what Dean thought of as his softly-softly-witness voice. "We're from the CDC ma'am, we're looking into cases across the country like your father’s, trying to figure out what’s happening. Can you tell me what led to your father's... condition?"

"He was dying. He had a heart condition” Tears began to slide down her cheeks, but she didn’t even seem to notice. “He had a heart attack on Sunday, and he was brought in here, but they couldn't revive him. They thought he was dead, they called time of death, but after a few seconds he started moving again. He's... He's dead. He doesn't have a heartbeat, or a pulse, but he's still here. He's still in there. He can't talk very much, but I know it's still, him.”

She turned back to look at her father through the window to his room, and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “He just watches television, or stares out of the window. It's like he's waiting for something, or someone to tell him it's ok to go. We've all tried, that is, me and the doctors and nurses, we've all talked to him, but he can't seem to let go." The woman broke off, finally digging in her jacket pocket for a tissue.

"And does your Father know why he's still here?" Sam was trying his best to look more sympathetic than horrified, passing her a tissue from his pocket.

The woman took it and wiped her eyes, shaking her head. "Not that he's been able to communicate, anyway."

"Are you his only family?" Dean asked, before he could stop himself. Sam gave him a sharp look, but Dean just shrugged. He had been thinking how awful it would be to be dealing with this on your own, and the question had popped out.

"I'm the only one in contact with him. My brother and sister have been out of contact for years, and they didn't want to come. My father did some terrible things. He was a drunk, and he was vicious with it, although not violent.” She shuddered at the memory.

“We all escaped as soon as we could, but a few years ago he made contact with me. He was sober and trying to atone for what he’d done. I began to forgive him, and saw him more often. I was his emergency contact, so I came here when the hospital called me on Sunday. I don't want to leave him. Whatever he has done in the past, he doesn't deserve this." The woman wrapped her arms around herself. "I should go back in, I need to be with him. Do you have any more questions?"

Sam and Dean both shook their heads, and the woman turned away, heading back to the hospital room, and the decaying corpse that waited there. 

The brothers returned to the Impala in silence. They were used to all of the monsters lurking in the darkness, and Dean had literally been to hell and back, they both thought that nothing could shock them anymore. But seeing that man, still conscious inside a dead and decomposing body - it had shaken both of them more than either were willing to admit

It was Dean that finally broke the silence. Thinking through everything they knew about the case he came to the conclusion that they were nowhere near any answers. And there were people in pain, people who would stay in pain unless he and Sam solved whatever the hell this was. Dean did not like it, but they needed help, and it was selfish to let a potential resource go unused just because it made him uneasy. He had to hope his grandmother was right, and that despite appearances during their first meeting, the angel would agree to help them.

Dean cleared his throat roughly.

"Castiel?"


	5. An Unkindness of Reapers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel witnesses a corpse of his own in Seattle, before meeting up with the Winchester Brothers and being reunited with a certain item from his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Linoresearch for her support and patience.

While the brothers were on their way to Phoenix, Castiel decided to investigate in Seattle rather than make the two day drive with them. He  could easily re-join them on the road before they reached the hospital.

In a wing beat, he was in his vessel in front of the hospital in Seattle. The first thing he noticed was the lack of reapers outside the hospital. A group usually waited to ferry the souls of the dead, gaze focused on the horizon as if listening for something. They were always somberly dressed in black, like an unkindness of ravens waiting for the signal to take flight. As Castiel walked the white-wash and antiseptic corridors he saw one or two, always standing at the bedside of someone laid dying, or disappearing around the turn of a corridor, slipping away, always just out of reach. He considered trying to catch up with one, but he knew that reapers could be tricky when they wanted to be, and could use their powers to outrun him.

As soon as Castiel found the patient named in the newspaper article he was hit by a sense of wrongness. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him. He looked down, horrified, at the corpse in the hospital bed – she was still blinking, still aware.

“This is wrong,” he said aloud. The woman’s eyes flicked over to him and widened in surprise.

“This goes against all of the rules of nature my father set down at the beginning of time. What is happening here? Why aren't the reapers doing their job?” Castiel questioned. He stalked from the room, heading down long corridors, determined to find a reaper and demand answers. .

With no opponent in sight and no clues to follow, Castiel felt all the fight drain out if him, and he sighed as he made his way out of the hospital. Anger lingered, but he was filled with sympathy, with sadness for the people left in limbo, trapped in slowly decomposing bodies. He was not ready to return to Dean and Sam, was not sure if he could decrease the size of his grace enough, at this moment, to squeeze into the amulet. Instead, he returned to his beach, leaving the vessel so that he could hear the song of the sea and allow the demonstration of nature's power and beauty to sooth him.

He returned to the amulet just moments after Dean arrived in Phoenix, travelling with him as he visited the hospital, and discovered the living cadaver inside. Castiel felt the pulse of Dean's distress and shock. He heard the conversation between Dean and the man's daughter, but could glean no more from her answers than Dean and Sam could. He was seriously considering appearing to Dean and demanding that he listen to him, when he finally heard and felt Dean say:

"Castiel."

If Castiel had a physical heart in his current form, it would have stopped in shock – Dean was finally summoning him. Without delay, Castiel materialised in his vessel in the back seat of the Impala.

"Dean," he said in greeting, following it up with a slightly belated, "Sam."

***

Dean jumped in shock as Castiel suddenly appeared, reflected in his rear view mirror. "Son of a..." he said, turning to check that there was actually someone sitting in the back seat, and it was not just a rumpled figment of his imagination. It was not; the angel was casually slouched in the back of his car, still wearing the wrinkled trench coat and backwards blue tie.

Now the angel was there, Dean was beginning to doubt the wisdom of calling him, even though he looked harmless enough. He had honestly not expected the angel to show up – surely there was important celestial business he should be doing instead.

“So… Yeah… Err…” Dean fumbled for the right thing to say, half expecting Castiel to get bored and flap away while Dean made a fool of himself. Castiel just waited patiently, meeting Dean's eye in the mirror, they watched one another.

Sam coughed and glared at Dean, clearly expecting him to break the strange silence that had fallen.

"So, Castiel, we had a bit of an awkward meeting last time." Dean cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. Would the Angel hold the stabbing thing against him? It did not seem to have left any lasting damage, but still, it is not the most complimentary thing to do at first sight. Castiel watched him steadily, without saying a word. Without any other evidence to go on, Dean decided it meant that they were good. "So, Cas... Can I call you Cas?" From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam shooting him an amused look. Castiel meanwhile just blinked once then slowly nodded his head in agreement.

"See, we had a meeting with our Grandmother a couple of weeks back, and she said you’d been involved with our family before." Dean paused, expecting some kind of agreement, some confirmation that he was or was not the same being. When he got nothing, Dean ploughed on. "So anyway, we've got this case. People are dying, but not leaving their bodies. Its horrible man, and we don't know where to start. Thought it might be the reapers, at first, but some people are dying so they must still be in play."

"Some reapers are still here."  When Cas finally spoke, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He had started to babble, and worse, he was about to actually ask for help, something he was never happy doing. "There was a case in Seattle that I went to investigate. Much the same as what you saw in Phoenix. There were reapers there, but not as many as I would expect, and they all seemed to be avoiding me. I'm afraid I don't know much more than you do, but..."

"So maybe you won't be any help then," Dean said sharply, he was frustrated and disappointed, and mainly with himself – this was why he did not ask for help. What did he expect? That Castiel would be able to hand them the answers on a plate? Just because their Grandma had told them that maybe they could get some assistance for once. He should have known better than to expect that things would be so easy. Dean balled his hand into a fist and brought it sharply down onto the steering wheel. "Dammit." He kept his eyes firmly on the road, and missed the guilt that flashed across Castiel's face.

"Hang on a minute, Dean," Sam said seriously. "Castiel, were you the angel our grandmother was talking about? Did you watch over our mother?"

Instead of answering the question, Castiel asked another. "Do you have the jewelry box your Grandmother gave to you?"

"How did you know about..?" Dean stuttered out, but Sam cut off the rest of the question with a glare, before rooting around in the bag at his feet, pulling out the jewellery box and passing it to Castiel. Dean watched as the angel took the box from Sam, reverentially running a hand over the hummingbirds on the lid.

Castiel turned the key on the back of the box and the first strains of a waltz echoed through the car. The angel began to glow with the purest light Dean had ever seen, tendrils of it seeping from Castiel’s hand and curling around the lid. As the brightness became almost too much, Castiel vanished.

"Fuck, fucking Angels who don't help,” Dean swore loudly, “just steal my belongings and vanish into thin air."

Sam looked at him with a raised eyebrow (bitch face number 22, _what the hell are you going on about_ , Dean noted). "Your belongings? You've not wanted to look at that jewellery box since Deanna gave it to us."

"Not the point right now Sam. Why aren't you more pissed?"

Sam looked at him calmly. "I have faith he'll be back. He is an angel after all. I doubt they're in the habit of stealing people's things and not returning them."

"Yeah right. I forgot about your fan boy obsession since we found out angels are real. Angels can still be dicks you know." Sam looked at Dean and smirked as Castiel fluttered back into the car.

"Oh, you decided to return with our Mother’s precious jewelry box after all, did you? Hope you learned something in your voyage of discovery," Dean yelled, staring at the angel in the rear view mirror.

"I did learn something. Sometimes angels choose to spend time on earth watching its inhabitants. It helps us learn how to better protect you. It can also provide sanctuary. I spent a decade within this jewelry box. I got to know the owner, Mary, quite well, and her mother, Deanna, but I was called back to heaven when Mary was ten. However, Deanna put spells on the box, and I've been able to witness everything that happened since, up to the day Deanna died, when she hid the box and her book of shadows."

"You spent ten years watching my mom grow up? Isn't that a bit creepy?" Dean was still pissed that the angel had left, albeit briefly, and wasn't quite sure if he believed the story. Angles hiding in human objects? Who had ever heard of that? Dean stubbornly ignored the fact that he had not known angels existed until he met Castiel, just a few weeks earlier.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "Don't you remember? Deanna told us she knew the family was being watched over. Watched over, and protected. That's what Angels do, we’ve heard of guardian angels before. It's not creepy."

Castiel cleared his throat. "Well actually, guardian angels are a different type of warrior, they are the Malakhs. They carried the prayers of special people straight to the ear of God, but now they’re protectors to people with a particular destiny. I am not a Malakhs. I am a warrior."

Sam looked slightly taken aback. "Dude, you're really not helping yourself." Sam said with a reluctant chuckle. Castiel tipped his head to the side, obviously not understanding what he meant.

"So, did you learn anything helpful from the box or not?" Dean cut in. He eyed Castiel distrustfully, as if he expected the angel to take off again at any moment.

“I saw your mother as a teenager, witnessed the first time she bought John Winchester home. I saw her join the hunter life, and the arguments that followed when she decided to leave it to marry John. I saw Azazel inhabit your grandfather and murder your grandmother." He said the last sentence quietly, reluctantly.

Sam turned in his seat at this, a million demands hovering on his lips.

"Sam," Dean said sharply. "Not now." Sam turned back, and slumped in his seat with his arms folded, his lips pressed together as if to keep all of the questions from spilling out. "You didn't find anything out about what is happening now, about the undead people?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Fuck," Dean said bitterly, turning the music up, hoping he could drown out the disappointment and that Castiel would just fly away again. They never got help anyway. He did not know why he had even allowed himself to hope.

The music suddenly cut out. Dean turned to Sam, eyeing him suspiciously, but Sam just shrugged in response. Dean scowled at Cas through the mirror, but the angel just stared back, expression stoic and unchanging.

"Hey, you don't touch my car." He turned the music back on. It went off again after a few seconds. "What the hell man!" Dean shouted.

"I can help you with your case. I could go and speak to a reaper and understand what is going on."

"Will they know?" Sam asked, peering into the back seat.

"They should know what is happening."

"So why didn't you ask them when you saw them in Seattle?" Dean asked, his voice hard.

Castiel shrugged. "They seemed to be avoiding me, and I didn't see the need to expend energy chasing one down. At the time I didn’t know if it was relevant."

"Well, I'd say it's pretty relevant. How are you going to track one down if they’re avoiding you?" Dean asked, tone turning softer now it seemed they would be getting some help after all. Not that he wanted help – particularly not from a rumpled, jewelry box stealing, blue-eyed angel.

“It will be tricky. Reapers have powers that I don't have, and very little can keep one from doing its job." Castiel turned to stare out of the window as they continued on down the highway, looking thoughtful.

"What about if we could summon one to us?" Sam asked.

"Reapers can’t be summoned at the will of a human," Castiel countered.

"Reapers come when somebody dies, right?" Dean said slowly, an idea seeping into his head, and trickling out through his mouth as he thought it through.

"Yes, of course Dean, that is their express purpose," Cas said impatiently.

"What if I were to die? A reaper would come, and you could grab it before it got away."

"No, Dean." Sam barely let him get to the end of the sentence before interrupting. "I know we need to stop this, but we need to stop it together. I can't carry on without you again, can't solve this without you." Sam looked wild-eyed at the idea.

"Not permanently dead, Sam. Just has to be long enough for the reaper to show up."

"Since when has there been a non-permanent death?" Sam scowled at Dean.

"Since a few weeks ago when a certain angel brought me back from hell and put me back in my body?" Dean glanced at Castiel again. Now that he thought they had a way ahead – and the fact that Sam did not like it often meant an idea was good, and maybe a bit dangerous – Dean suddenly found the image of an "Angel of the Lord" (he even did a growly impression of Cas' voice in his head) sitting in the back seat of his Baby, quite ridiculous.

"I could heal you and return your soul to your body Dean, but it would be dangerous,” Castiel said. “And there would be a time limit. There is also the risk that when your soul is detached, it may want to leave with the reaper. I cannot override your free will if that were to happen. I cannot drag an unwilling soul back to its body. And it would seem a waste of effort from me bringing you back previously if you were to die again so soon."

Castiel was uncertain, and Dean did briefly consider what that meant, before deciding that he knew best. "Well that's decided then," Dean stated, ignoring the incredulous look Sam was giving him.

"Didn't you listen to what Castiel said, Dean? There are risks, you might not want to come back!"

Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "There are always risks to whatever we do, Sammy-boy, this is no worse than most. Besides, I wouldn't want to leave you and your many, many, bitch faces now, would I?"

"Jerk," Sam huffed, folding his arms and sinking down in the seat.

There is one more complication," Cas added. Dean looked at him in the mirror with a raised eyebrow. "I will not kill you, Dean. I spent a long time putting that body back together. I will not rip you from it. If you choose this course, that is your free will to exercise and I will do what I can to protect you and restore you, but I will not be the one to do it," Cas said firmly.

Dean frowned, before his expression cleared. "That's ok, I have an idea anyway." Dean gave an insolent grin.

"This is so not going to end well," Sam groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter. 
> 
> I always think of City of Angels when I see the Reaper scenes in Supernatural, and that was the image I had when writing this chapter. If you've not seen the film you should watch it, but make sure you have a box of tissues close by.
> 
> Chapter 6 isn't too far away, hopefully by next weekend it will be ready to post.


	6. A Conversation with a Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds a doctor who can help with his plan, and a certain familiar reaper makes an appearance.

Castiel followed Dean incorporeally through a seedy Chinese restaurant, phasing through a bead curtain towards the stairs, the cream painted walls wearing at least a decades worth of dirty hand prints, trailing upwards, leading the way. Dean knocked insistently on the door at the top, until a short man opened it, peering up at him with a light of recognition in his eye.

“Dean Winchester,” he said. “Still alive then, well, well, come on in.”

Castiel listened as Dean made a deal with the "doctor." He looked more like a mad scientist than a medical man, with hair sticking up all over the place, and thick lenses in black frames that still caused him to squint at the roll of money Dean was holding out to him. They had obviously met before, but Cas was horrified to think of what Dean could possibly have needed from a man like this.

Dean lay back on an old dentist’s chair, a large operating theatre light hanging above it. The doctor walked around the room, pulling a metal trolley with him, opening draws and cupboards and adding silver instruments to his collection that were dull and worn with use. He stopped beside Dean once he had done a full loop of the room.

As the Doctor picked up the needle, Castiel felt an overwhelming urge to protect Dean, to stop the doctor from hurting the righteous man, from injecting a substance to instigate death, even if it was temporary. He thought about his orders from heaven, and wondered how letting Dean die fit into them. It did not, of course, but Cas knew that if he stopped it now Dean would only find another way, a way which might be more dangerous, a way that left him permanently dead.

The doctor attached wires to Dean's chest, underneath his t-shirt. His heart rate began to pulse across the monitor, strong and sure, his life force traced in sharp peaks.

"Are you ready for this?" The doctor asked.

"Just get on with it Doc." Dean, for all of his bravado, was starting to look a little green. As the doctor picked up the syringe, squirting out a few drops of the drug to remove any air, Castiel sank his consciousness deeper into his grace; the angelic equivalent of putting his hands over his eyes. He could not bring himself to watch this happen, was concerned he would lose control and try to stop it, if he did.

“I’ve started the timer. In eight minutes, I will shock your heart to restart it. You’d better be done by then,” the doctor muttered, along to the beep of a timer being set. Castiel descended slightly deeper into his grace in frustration. He was ready to heal Dean, and would do it earlier than the agreed eight minutes, if required, even if it meant having to face Dean’s wrath; still, it felt wrong to allow it in the first place.

“Cas?” The angel resurfaced from his grace with a thought, as soon as he heard Dean’s voice. He opened his eyes and Dean was standing there, looking very slightly transparent and grinning. “I guess it worked” he commented as he looked down to his prone body. He looked back at Cas. “You still look the same though; I thought you might look different”.

“While I do not have a vessel in my incorporeal form, I have modified it to allow you to comprehend what you see. My true form would be too large to share this space with you, so I thought this would be best.”

“Yeah yeah, stop showing off, “Dean fired back with a wink.

“Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe,” someone said, from behind them. Cas looked towards the source. It was a woman, with shoulder length black hair and soft hazel eyes, dressed in black with a small ankh hanging at her throat. She strode purposefully into the room and stopped in front of Dean.

“Tessa!” Dean said in recognition. “Given that neither of us is living or breathing at the moment that seems like kind of an inappropriate thing to say,” Dean smirked at her, before pulling her in for a hug. Tessa accepted stiffly, smiling at his quip.

Castiel felt his mouth drop open in shock. “Dean, you have met this reaper before?” He eyed her suspiciously.

“Yeah, Cas, we go way back, but this ain’t story-time.” Cas shook his head, but didn’t argue. Dean turned back to Tessa. “Do you know what’s going on? Why some people aren’t dying, or aren’t able to leave their bodies anyway?”

“I do know.” Tessa looked at her feet, clearly uncomfortable and wrestling with her conscience. “We aren’t supposed to speak of it though.” Dean stayed quiet, resisting the urge to try and persuade her.

“We reapers don’t collect all of the souls. We only collect those who are going directly to heaven or hell,” Tessa began slowly, as if she were measuring each word to check that she wasn’t saying something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Surely that is all of the souls?” Dean asked.

“No, sometimes a soul is such a delicate balance of good and evil that it cannot be determined where they should be going. In such cases, Death comes personally for the soul. He assesses it further, and sends it to where it should be.” Tessa was speeding up now, her words coming out in a rush. “It’s the balanced souls that are not being taken. Reapers aren’t able to take them, and so they’re… stuck.”

“So, something has happened to Death?” Dean looked utterly confused. Suddenly Dean cried out and started grabbing at his chest, gasping. In the background was the high pitched whine of a heart monitor, and the double-thud of a defibrillator.

“Dean, we only have seconds left.” Castiel said urgently, concerning tingeing his voice.

“What’s happened to Death?” Dean asked, reaching out a hand towards Tessa and holding the other over his heart.

“He’s trapped.” Tessa was almost crying, her distress obvious as the truth was pulled from her. “It’s some kind of human magic which has him contained. We can’t break it. A few have tried, and ended up being wiped out of existence. We had to stop, but we are still keeping watch.”

“Where?” Dean managed to grunt out, as the noise of the third round of defibrillation echoed in his ears.

“Illinois,” Tessa gasped out.

Castiel moved to Dean’s side. “That’s it Dean, we have to go, or you risk not being able to return to your body.”

Dean looked up at him; his green eyes seemed faded and dim, as though the light of his soul was being turned off. “What if I don’t want to go back? What if I just didn’t go? Would the pain stop?”

Castiel felt a small crack develop deep in his metaphorical heart, but didn’t allow it to show on his face. “It might do, Dean, I don’t know where you would be destined. But you promised Sam you would go back, that you wouldn’t leave him alone,” Castiel replied.

“Sam would carry on. He’d solve the case. He’s smart, he doesn’t need me.” Dean sank to his knees, his head bowed.

Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, shaking him, releasing some of the anger he suddenly felt. “You don’t believe that,” he said. “You know Sam needs you.” Dean shook his head, a grim twist to his lips. “What about me?” Castiel went on. “I descended into hell for you. I pulled you out and rebuilt your body piece by piece. I’ve waited for you to ask me for help. I have been commanded by heaven to look after you. And you're just going to throw all of that away?” Dean shook his head again, but less in disagreement this time, and more in disbelief.

“I didn't ask for any of that, didn't deserve…”

“You still can’t see yourself clearly. One day I will convince you, but I can only do that if you are alive to be convinced.” Castiel stood over Dean now, palms facing outwards in a gesture of peace. “Will you allow me to take you back to your body now?”

Dean nodded slowly.

Cas immediately stooped and picked up Dean’s spirit, hooking one arm under his knees, and one around his back. Dean’s arm instinctively went around the back of Castiel’s neck, his head against Cas’s chest.  There was movement in the corner of his eye, as if Tessa had made to move in front of him, but decided against it. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “I hope you weren't intending to get in my way?” He let a little of his grace spill out and edge towards her, and she quailed at the wrath of heaven in his voice.

Tessa shook her head. “Look after him, Castiel. If anyone can sort this mess out, it’s those two.” Castiel nodded at her and then dismissed her from his thoughts.

He moved next to the old dentist’s chair, and laid Dean’s spirit – almost completely transparent now – over his body. Castiel held his breath as the spirit sank, merging with the flesh of Dean’s body. When Castiel could no longer see the spirit, he rested his hand on Dean’s forehead and used his grace to heal him, burning away every trace of the drug the doctor had used and repairing the damage done to Dean’s heart, and his oxygen starved brain.

***

Dean opened his eyes and sat up with a sharp gasp, oxygen flooding back into air-starved lungs.

The doctor jumped, and threw down the paddles he had been holding as he looked hopelessly down on Dean’s recently dead body. “Damn, boy, I thought you was a goner. Seemed like you didn’t want to come back.” The doctor said, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Tessa…” Was all Dean could think to say. He remembered a flash of hazel eyes, a black leather jacket, and an ankh necklace, but he shook his head and the memory was gone.

“Who’s Tessa?” The doctor asked, looking confused.

“I… I don’t know,” Dean stammered, as he maneuvered himself off the bed. He staggered as he got to his feet.

The doctor put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Are you gonna be alright boy? You've just come back from the dead, not sure you should be up and moving around just yet.”

“I’ll be ok,” Dean said, rubbing at his chest. It felt like he had been run over, and then the car had reversed and driven over him again. “My ride is right outside, and I’ll get some rest later.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” the doctor said, removing his hand and watching as Dean stumbled out of his office.

Castiel was waiting for Dean outside, his vessel leaning against the wall close to the door.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said tiredly. “Did it work?”

“Do you not remember what happened?” Castiel asked, sounding surprised and disappointed. Dean shook his head and leaned next to the angel tiredly. “I’ll take you back to Sam, and then I’ll explain it all to you,” Castiel said.

Dean did not even have a chance to nod before Castiel pressed two fingers to his forehead and they were in the motel room where they had agreed to meet Sam. As soon as Dean realized he was standing at the foot of a bed, he flopped onto it; he was asleep within seconds.

***

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, there was relief in his voice but still an edge of worry.

“He’ll be fine,” Castiel’s stated wearily. He stood by the door and Sam whirled around to face him. Cas felt his shoulder slump, his vessel reflecting the deep fatigue he felt within his grace.

“Are you ok?” Sam asked doubtfully. “You look a mess.”

“Your concern is unexpected and unrequired. I will also be fine,” Castiel said. Even his voice sounded worn out.

“Did you have problems?” Sam asked as he sat on the second bed, still eyeing Cas with concern.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Castiel did not think Sam needed to know Dean had been reluctant to return. “I shall return in the morning, when Dean has awoken, so that I can tell both of you what happened.” Sam nodded and lay back on the bed without bothering to get undressed or even remove his boots.

His duty done, for the moment, Castiel moved his grace back into Dean’s amulet, lulled into a sense of rest by the strong and healthy thrum of the heart of the man below him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few feels in this chapter. Does anyone need a cup of tea?!


	7. Searching for a Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever to Linoresearch for continued patience with me!

Dean woke up next morning with the worst hangover he had ever experienced. He groaned and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the daylight. His mouth was dry and his head hurt like someone was sticking a needle in his eye. Dean dimly cast his mind back to the night before, wondering what he’d been drinking. Then he remembered that he hadn’t been drinking at all; Dean had been dead. That would explain it then, he thought to himself.

“Sammy,” Dean croaked, then coughed as he tried to clear his throat. He regretted it instantly as pain shot across his head and his chest. When there was no answer from Sam, he forced himself to sit up, moving very slowly and keeping his eyes tightly shut against the light. Dean blinked his eyes open cautiously and squinted at the room around him. Seeing that he was alone, he flopped back onto the bed, facedown, and buried his head in the pillow.

“Hello, Dean.” A gravelly voice spoke from next to the bed. Dean jumped, limbs spasming against the mattress as he automatically reached for the gun he usually kept under the pillow, but it was missing. As Dean’s brain caught up and he caught sight of the man in the beige trench coat standing next to the bed, he relaxed.

“Dammit, Cas. Warn a guy can’t you? You’re supposed to knock before you enter a room.” Castiel tilted his head for a second, then vanished. Dean shook his head, confused that he had been able to scare the guy – angel, he corrected himself – off so easily. Then there was a knock at the door, and Castiel opened it, striding through without waiting for permission.

“Fairly sure that door was locked,” Dean said. “You know you’re supposed to… do you know what, never mind.” His aching brain could not take Castiel making another attempt at entering the room the human way. “What’s up Cas?” he said, massaging his temples.

“I’ve come to tell you and Sam what we learnt yesterday in our conversation with that _reaper,_ ” Cas said the word as if it was causing a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m assuming you still can’t remember anything?”

Dean shook his head, then swore as a bolt of pain passed between his ears. He caught the look of disappointment that passed over Cas’ face, and felt a flash of guilt he couldn’t explain. “I don’t think I could remember anything through this headache,” he said. “I feel like death warmed up. Which is stupidly accurate if you think about it.”

A look of realization passed across Cas’ face and he shifted nervously on his feet, looking down at the floor. “I could heal you, if you would allow me to…” He gestured a hand towards Dean’s forehead and held it there, glancing up and looking at Dean expectantly.

“Oh my god yes, what are you waiting for, get over here and touch me.” Cas froze in place and Dean’s eyes widened in panic. “That came out wrong. I mean… please heal the worst headache of my life, oh powerful angel.” He forced a smile in Cas’ direction to cover his embarrassment.

Cas stepped forward and pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead. There was a tingle of warmth at first contact, which made Dean blush, then a sensation that felt as if a cooling gel was flooding through his brain, soothing the sharp pain in his head, before flowing down his neck, relaxing his aching muscles and easing a twinge in his heart he had not realized was there until it was gone. Dean wanted to lean into the touch and seek more comfort from it, but forced himself to stay still. The desire was only because it felt so good to have the pain stop, was the lie he told himself.

Sam chose that moment to barge through the door, a tray of coffees in one hand and two paper bags in the other. Castiel started and pulled his hand away, putting it behind his back, looking guilty. Dean jumped from the bed and grabbed the coffee closest to him. He did not care what it was; as long as it was hot and contained caffeine it would do just fine.

“I thought you might need breakfast,” Sam said with an amused look. Dean took a long gulp of his coffee and moaned in pleasure, before taking one of the bags Sam held out to him. To Dean’s joy there was a much needed breakfast burger inside, and he sat down at the table to dig in. “How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Good,” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of burger. “Cas healed me, then you brought breakfast. Can this morning get any better?”

Sam glanced over to Cas, who was staring at Dean with a strange expression on his face. “Are you hungry, Cas? Sorry, I didn’t get you anything, but you’re welcome to share my fruit salad and pastry if you like?” Sam offered.

Cas looked at him in surprise. “Thank you Sam, however, I do not need to eat.” Sam looked a little confused at that, but he just shrugged and started to get out his own breakfast.

Dean watched the exchange in amusement. “Fanboying the angel again, are we?” Dean muttered around another mouthful. Sam looked at him in disgust (bitch face number 32, _why are you talking with your mouth full,_ Dean supplied silently).

“As time is of the essence, shall I explain what happened yesterday?” Castiel asked politely. Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. Castiel sat down at the table with them, and Dean was surprised by how domestic and normal it suddenly seemed. It should feel strange, an angel sitting with them while they ate breakfast, but it did not. It felt… right, somehow.

Castiel recounted what Tessa had told them while Dean was been dead. Dean was surprised to learn about Death’s role with the balanced souls – and from the look Dean exchanged with Sam, he could tell it was news to his brother as well. As Cas fell silent, the brothers sat in contemplation of the role Death would play on their own lives – or deaths. Dean assumed that he would never meet the father of reapers; next time he died, he would surely be dragged straight back to hell – apparently by a girl named Tessa, which was just humiliating.

“We’ve got to work out where this started. Tessa said Death is being held in Illinois?” Sam asked Castiel, moving from philosophical consideration to research geek in a heartbeat. Castiel nodded. “So, if we can work out the person this happened too first, then we should hopefully find where he is being held.” Sam surmised.

Dean snorted. “Then we just need to somehow work out what ingredients we need from a list our grandmother never wrote down, and cast a spell that men can’t cast. Don’t make it sound too easy Samantha.” Bitch face 47 ( _I hate that nickname and you know it_ ) was thrown in Dean’s direction.

“I did have some thoughts about that – Castiel, can you remember everything that went into our mother’s jewelry box?” Sam asked. Castiel nodded. “Could you make a list?” Sam got up from the table and pulled a notepad and pen from his bag, placing it before Castiel, who looked at it with a blank expression.

“You do know how to use a pen, don’t you?” Dean asked, only half joking.

Castiel glared at him. “Yes of course I know _how_ to use a pen, Dean. I was in Greece when they invited the first true alphabet. I was just working my way through ten years of memories.” He pushed the piece of paper towards Dean, who looked at it. The piece of paper was now covered with a numbered list in an emerald green cursive scrawl. Dean looked back at Castiel, who was smiling, looking more smug than might be appropriate for one of the heavenly host.

“Oh, and I also don’t _need_ to use a pen,” Castiel commented. Dean blinked, almost impressed, and was caught by the mischievous twinkle in Cas’ blue eyes. Sam interrupted with a cough, pulling Dean’s attention back to the piece of paper Sam pushed towards him.

Dean jumped up from his seat. He felt claustrophobic and closed in all of a sudden and needed some air. “I’ll go to the library, see what I can dig up about the first person to die-but-not-die… or about the spell ingredients… or something,” Dean mumbled, as he grabbed his jacket and car keys, feeling flustered. Sam was watching him with an odd look on his face, one that squeezed a small wrinkle in between his eyebrows. “What, Sam?” Dean demanded.

“You never volunteer to go to do research. What’s the matter with you?”

“Well, maybe I want to. Coming back from the dead for the second time in a month might change a man’s perspective, y’know?” Dean said as he inched towards the door. As soon as he was in reach of the handle, he yanked it open and marched out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

He stopped when he reached his baby, resting two hands above the driver’s door and leaning his head forward to rest it on the cool metal. The contact soothed Dean, as it always did. He was not sure what had gotten in to him. He had not ever experienced that feeling of fluttering in his stomach, and tiny shivers running down the back of his neck, just from looking at someone. Maybe looking at someone during se… Dean stopped that thought before it could reach its natural conclusion. Had Cas put some kind of mind whammy on him or something? Dean thought about going back inside once he had calmed down, but he felt awkward about facing Cas again after… whatever the hell that was. Instead, he climbed into the car and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot, turning up the music, willing the brash guitars of Led Zeppelin to drive thoughts of sparkling blue eyes from his mind.

***

Castiel watched Dean storm from the room. He had no idea what he had done wrong, or why Dean had left in such a surprising hurry. Cas turned back to the table, meeting Sam’s eye only to find him wearing a completely unaccountable smirk on his face.

“So, let’s look at this list and work out what could be an ingredient, shall we?” Sam said, finally breaking the awkward silence. “We need to find seven ingredients, out of this long list, and we don’t know what is an ingredient and what isn’t.” Sam sat back and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “This is a needle in a haystack isn’t it?” He mumbled, looking disheartened.

“We know we need something that matches the five senses, and heart and soul, so is there anything that stands out?” Castiel questioned, working through the list in his mind. “What about the rose quartz heart?” he wondered.

“Isn’t that a little too obvious?” Sam retorted.

Castiel shook his head. “Don’t forget this was all done by someone who wanted to help you, not someone who wanted to make it as difficult as possible.”

“Ok, what else do you think could be a possibility?” Sam highlighted the heart with a pen he had pulled from his bag. “What about the Tiger’s eye? For sight?”

“That was the final gift I saw Mary receive before I had to return to heaven, and I remember thinking it was a perfect specimen.” Castiel nodded.

“You included note cards on the list. Do you think it could have been the actual spell? Can you remember what was on them?” Sam prompted, tapping his pen lightly on the piece of paper.

“I don’t remember what was on them exactly, but I don’t think it was the spell. It might have been… recipes?”

“They’re not likely to be an ingredient then,” Sam said. “How about…”

“There can be a lot of power in recipes that are handed down through family lines, Sam,” Castiel interrupted. “Food cooked by generation after generation can evoke memories, and emotions, and can have considerable power, particularly among families that also inherits its magical power.”

“Could that be the taste ingredient then? A family recipe passed down through the generations? Would it be the recipe, or the actual food itself?” Sam asked.

“I would suggest you include both, to be absolutely sure. Those notecards were lost long ago, however.”

“Sometimes recipes can be handed down verbally though, right? And if that was recorded it could still hold the same power?”

“Yes, do you have something that could work?”

Sam shook his head, looking wistful. “I don’t, but Dean does,” Sam said, looking back at the paper with a slight frown. When it became apparent that there was not going to be any further explanation, Castiel considered the list again.

“There was a beautiful shell that Mary found on a beach trip one year, and Deanna insisted she keep it inside the jewellery box. It was odd, because it was the only time anything was added that Deanna did not give as a gift. That could be sound.”

“How does a shell equal sound?” Sam said.

“Have you never listened to a shell and heard the noise of the sea inside?” Cas countered. “There is a song beneath the waves that humans cannot hear, but angels can. The power of that song is reflected in shells, as the sea, in turn, reflects the power of the moon. A shell from a beach never walked upon by humans could be a powerful ingredient.”

Sam hummed noncommittally at that, and moved on. “So, touch, smell and soul are left, if we have guessed right.”

“Touch is often something that can be worn, an item of clothing, or a piece of jewellery, depending on the spell,” Castiel advised.

“Mom’s charm bracelet?” Sam asked. “Dean won’t be happy to lose that.”

“Silver is very powerful. That’s why it can be used as a weapon against so many creatures. Inherited silver adds another level of power. The bracelet would make sense. The spell may not destroy all of the items. Dean may be able to retrieve the bracelet if he wishes.” Castiel felt his stomach twist a little in a strange manner at the idea of Dean being unhappy. He shook his head in confusion at feeling the new emotion, before continuing. “The jewellery box itself could be soul. It contains a touch of grace, residue from the time I spent within it. That will be more powerful than anything relating to a human soul.”

“Wow that seems slightly arrogant,” Sam said, frowning at him.

“Arrogance wasn’t my intention, it’s just factually correct.” Castiel shrugged, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“So, just smell left then. Wasn’t as difficult as I thought.” Sam stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders to loosen them after so long sitting at the table.

“Don’t forget, we have identified six of the objects, but we’ve got identify the final ingredient, then actually locate each one.”

“Good point. I wonder where Dean’s got to. He’d better bring lunch back with him.”

***

Dean slumped down into the chair in the library, feeling even more stupid then when he’d stormed out of the motel. He had left without his laptop, and his hope that a library in the back end of nowhere would have copies of newspapers three states away had proved to be fruitless. Dean’s only option was to use the library computers to search, paying for internet he could have had for free, on his own faster laptop, back at the motel room. But he was not ready to think about why he had run—he was not ready to face it—so he pushed that train of thought away and resigned himself to the frustration of the ancient PC in front of him.

Dean trailed through website after website of local newspapers for different towns in Illinois, clicking past articles detailing small town life, seeing nothing of interest to them. He rubbed at his tired eyes as he moved on to the sixth town, skimming over the headlines of ‘The Normalite,’ the weekly newspaper of Normal, Illinois: and there it was, finally, under the headline, ‘local man in miracle recovery, doctors baffled,’ and dated a few days before the first case in Phoenix.

When Dean clicked through he found a picture at the top of the page, a smiling couple sitting on a couch with their arms around each other. The man was completely bald, with large bags under his eyes, dressed in clothes that were at least two sizes too large, suggesting he had lost a lot of weight very fast. The woman was wearing a garish floral dress, with a string of pearls around her throat and her hair pinned up neatly in an old fashioned style. Both seemed to be in their late fifties. Dean looked more closely at the woman. Her smile looked triumphant, and she was clinging on to her husband a little too tightly. He read through the article, an exultant smile stretching slowly across his face.

“Got you,” Dean muttered to himself, slapping his hand against the desk.

Dean pressed print and raced over to the printer to collect the paper, crumpling it a little in his haste as he raced to leave the library. It was only as he was pulling into the parking lot at the motel that he remembered why he had left in the first place. Now Dean had good news to share, so he brushed off what had happened earlier; it was nothing. ‘Maybe there was something in the food,’ he thought to himself.

He burst into the hotel room, stopping short when he saw Cas sitting casually on the sofa, a discovery channel show about bees flickering on the screen in front of him. Cas turned to look at him, smiling gently, and Dean’s heart absolutely did not speed up at the sight.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, suddenly feeling confused and unsteady being alone in the room with Cas.

“He went for a run, to stretch after being sat at the table for so long. I think he was hoping you would return with lunch.” Cas was looking at him disapprovingly, gaze slipping to his hands, which were empty apart from the print-out of the article.

“My weird brother can run for his own lunch. I’ve found the witch,” Dean declared. Cas stood quickly and strode over to him. Dean’s eyes widened and he took a quick breath, unsure about what Cas was about to do, and even more uncertain about what he wanted Cas to do. Cas stopped mere centimeters away and snatched the article from Dean’s hands. He read it quickly, before flickering out of existence like a flame on a candle Dean had just blown out. “God, I wish he’d stop doing that,” Dean muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're really starting to get somewhere now...
> 
> So, seven ingredients required to free Death, they have the charm bracelet and the jewelery box, so just 5 more to find! 
> 
> Chapter 8 should be along fairly soon - in which Castiel locates the wicked witch and Death, and Dean and Sam track down the first of the five remaning ingredients. 
> 
> Thanks for staying with me so far, and hope you'll keep reading!


	8. How to Mend a Broken Heart

Castiel appeared outside a house in the town of Normal, Illinois. The house was run down, the front yard overgrown with large patches of dying grass and dead roses. White paint peeled from the house, and flaking like dead skin, leaving small piles along the bottom of the wall. A grey-green miasma hung over the plants, creeping out from the house by inches. As Cas moved into it, the mist clung to him even in his incorporeal form, tendrils searching for a chink in his angelic armor. When it could not find a gap – instead of giving up – more of it flowed around him, searching, groping over his grace, trying to press in. Cas knew it could not hurt him, and he refused to let it deter him from his mission; but he felt violated all the same.

Castiel passed through the door and into the hallway. Dozens of reapers were crammed in, wall to wall, silent except for the soft rustle of clothes. He moved through them unnoticed. All their attention was focused down, through the floor, to whatever was held beneath.

Deciding to seek out the witch before locating Death, Castiel moved upstairs. The witch and her husband, or what was left of them, lay together on the master bed, corpses staining the once pristine floral pattern. The witch was beginning to putrefy, her abdomen swelling and blue-green veins starting to show in her arms and legs. She had been dead for at least two days. The grey-green mist from outside was present here too, lazily eddying out from her corpse. Cas moved to the side of the bed and cast a vine of grace over the witch’s arm, leaving millimetres of space as he did not want to touch. He could sense a poison lingering just beneath the skin. The witch had taken her own life, unable to deal with the consequences of her actions.

Those consequences lay on the bed beside her. The cadaver which had once belonged to the witch’s husband was in a much later stage of decay. The remaining tissue was dry and leathery, and sections of skeleton were clearly visible. The mist pooled in what would have been his abdomen, eyes and mouth. The skeletal fingers of the corpse twitched, and Castiel whirled back with surprise. The man’s soul was still trapped inside what was left of the body. Cas was suddenly glad that he had not bought Dean with him to witness this, was glad that he was able to protect the Righteous Man from a sight which would haunt Castiel for eternity.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Castiel thought to the man as he left the bedroom.

Sorrow settled upon Castiel. He could not help the man who had been unwittingly drawn into this by his wife – it was a terrible thing she had done, even though it was born from love and a desire not lose her husband – but Cas could help Dean find the ingredients for the spell to free Death. He felt a new determination to ensure that they would succeed growing inside him, the thought getting bigger and brighter by the second.

Castiel brushed his incorporeal form back through the reapers gathered on the ground floor, before fluttering his grace into the basement. There were more reapers were gathered there, packed even tighter than they had been upstairs, and all facing towards the center of the room. Cas fought his way through, breaking through the crowd and coming to an abrupt halt. There were seven circles embedded into the concrete floor. Each formed from a different material; he could only identify some of them. The outer ring was salt, and there were others made of quartz and gunpowder. The final circle was a dark liquid which glistened and glowed with a dark power: Demon blood.

In the center was Death. He sat on an old wooden chair, calmly resting both hands on a black cane with a dark, golden globe attached to the top. His figure appeared to flicker, splitting and separating. Castiel could see the vessel of the man beneath – black hair, black suit, black tie – but he could also see Death's true form, layered over the top like lines traced over an original image. His form was tall, exceeding height of the vessel by many inches, and Death’s skull peered out from a dark cowl, hanging thick and low from the robe covering the rest of his skeletal body. Only his hands extended from it, to clasp the cane, or more correctly, the long scythe, as it was in this true form.

"Castiel," Death greeted him by name.

 

***

Dean rummaged in the trunk of the Impala, searching for a rock he knew was in there, it had to be; he had often brushed past it without any clue that it might be significant. He finally pulled his hand out, triumphant, a small tear-shaped rock in the palm of his hand. It was dark - covered in dirt - but streaks of pastel pink were still visible beneath the dirt. He rubbed it on his jeans in an attempt to dislodge some of the muck, but eventually gave up and headed to the motel bathroom to wash it properly.

"Dean."

Dean jumped and spun about, to find Castiel standing behind him - a little too close to be comfortable. He had been so engrossed in the task that he had not heard the flutter of wings that usually signalled the arrival of the angel.

"Dude, I'm in the bathroom, I could have been doing anything. You can't just appear in here like that." Dean could feel himself blushing. "And take a step back. Personal space man." Dean stamped down hard on the voice in the back of his head that protested when Cas did exactly as he was asked.

"My apologies," Cas said, but he did not look sorry. If anything, he looked vaguely amused.

Dean was flushed with embarrassed confusion. "What are you doing here anyway?" he snapped. Cas' face stilled, all emotion wiped from it in an instant at Dean’s harsh tone.

"I found Death," Cas announced, as if it was an everyday occurrence, as if he was telling Dean he had bumped into a friend at the store.

"Sam had better hear this too," Dean stated, before Cas could say any more. He went to move out of the bathroom, but Cas did not seem inclined to move so Dean ended up squeezing past, holding his breath and trying to keep himself millimetres away, so as not to touch. He burst out of the bathroom, breathing heavily, with Cas following right behind. Sam raised an eyebrow from where he sat at the table, the ingredient list in front of him again, but he did not make a comment.

Dean sat down opposite Sam, but Cas stood awkwardly by the table until Dean sighed and kicked the other chair out for him, nodded viciously towards it hoping the socially inept angel would understand the message.

"So, Cas, what'd you find out?" Sam said, breaking the silence and interrupting the look that was lingering between Dean and Cas.

"I found Death," Cas said again, sitting in the chair Dean had pushed out for him.

"Yeah, Cas, you said that already. How was old skull face?" Dean asked, irreverently.

"Very much trapped. He confirmed our suspicions about the ingredients, they match with the circles he’s trapped in."

"Circles, plural?” Sam asked. “I thought that you only needed one to cast a spell?"

"It would appear the more powerful the spell, the more circles you need to ground it. I was also able to identify the final ingredient; gunpowder."

"We have plenty of that in the trunk," Dean said, brightening. They rarely got an easy win.

"I suspect it will need to be more powerful than ordinary gunpowder. As with all of the other ingredients, it will be something that seems ordinary, but has an extra layer of meaning," Castiel said.

"How about gunpowder from the Colt?" Sam asked, looking thoughtful.

"We lost the colt, Sammy," Dean grumbled, banging his head lightly against the table in frustration.

"But we might be able to find some of the gunpowder Samuel Colt used. It's worth a shot. No pun intended." Dean raised his head to glare at his giant of a brother, who smirked back at him.

"Did you find the rose quartz?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah." Dean dropped the stone from his hand onto the table. It was completely pink now, all traces of dirt scrubbed away. It seemed to have a faint light glowing from the inside of it. The tear had one edge rough and cracked where the rest of the stone was a perfectly smooth curve.

Sam looked at it doubtfully. "That's not a heart shape."

Dean picked it up and closed his hand around it defensively. "It's kind of heart-shaped," he muttered.

"Maybe a broken heart," Sam snickered. "Maybe a sad twisted little heart, like yours."

"Hey!" Dean pushed his chair back, intending to go over and pound on his little brother to show him just how twisted his heart actually was.

He was distracted by Cas taking a breath and slapping a hand to his own forehead, as if he had just realised something. The gesture was so very human it made Dean's - perfectly normal thank you very much - heart lurch a little.

"Of course,” Cas said. “I had forgotten. When I saw the memories from the box after I left it, I saw Mary break the heart. She was just coming into her powers, and her boyfriend of the time had been seeing someone else. She was playing with the stone when she found out, her powers got away from her, and it broke. If I remember correctly, the boy came crawling back and she forgave him, but gave him half of the heart to remind him not to hurt her again. She broke up with him to be with your father. If you've only got half of it, I would suspect she never got the other half back."

Dean looked at Cas in shock, all thoughts of beating on his brother forgotten. "Mom had other boyfriends?"

Cas tilted his head and looked at Dean with a confused expression. "Of course, Dean. I believe most humans have more than one amorous relationship in their lifetimes." Dean looked at him, mouth slightly open at Cas’ apparent understanding of human relationships.

"What are the chances this man still has something given to him by an ex-girlfriend from what must be at least thirty years ago?" Sam said in a frustrated tone. Dean shared his sentiment, he should have known it would not all be as easy as finding the ingredient in the trunk of his car.

 

***

They followed a trail that started with Cas taking them to the high school Mary had attended when she had dated this ‘other man’. Copies of the school’s old yearbooks had led the way, with Cas pointing to a picture of a boy with long, sandy hair and blue eyes, as they flicked through the pages.

"Jerry Tyler,” Dean read. “He looks like a douche. I don't like him." He went forward a couple of pages, then stopped abruptly; there was his mom as a teenager, just sitting and looking out at them. She had been pretty and blonde, and looked so young and innocent, so far away from his image of her final breaths, that a tiny piece of his heart fractured and broke away. Dean concealed his grief, but only just, and he slipped the year book under his jacket to look at again later on. They had so few pictures of Mary; they could not leave one behind when they found it.

The next step was to find out if Jerry still lived in the area. Sam worked his magic on his laptop in the new motel and found two Jerry Tyler’s that lived within a small radius of the school. They got lucky on the second try. Jerry confirmed he had attended the high school in the same year as Mary. Sam told him that they were looking to arrange a school reunion and was hoping he could help them identify some of his classmates, before he arranged a meeting for the following day.

The next morning, they stood at the front door, listening to the fading buzz of the doorbell. Jerry peered out at them, the blue eyes from his yearbook picture were now hidden behind thick glasses, and the sandy hair was streaked with grey, closely cropped and receding.

"Hi, I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday?" Sam introduced them, while Dean lurked behind him and tried not to look like he disliked the man.

"Yes of course, please come in." Jerry beckoned them inside and closed the door behind them. He led them into a small living room and indicated that they should sit on a worn grey sofa as he sat on a shabby armchair opposite them.

“So, we are looking to arrange a school reunion as I mentioned on the phone. We have a copy of your yearbook, and I wondered if you could take a look and tell us if any of the others from your year still live in the local area?” Sam gave his best puppy-eyed expression and presented the yearbook that Dean had pulled from inside his jacket.

Jerry looked at both of them for a long moment, his mouth opening and shut a few times as if he were trying to speak but decided against it. Sam and Dean sat awkwardly on the sofa, waiting for a response. Sam eventually retracted his arms and returned the book to his lap. He looked about to speak again when Jerry broke the awkward silence.

“Did you tell me what your last was?” Sam shook his head, and Dean opened his mouth to give one of their usual aliases, but Jerry interjected before he could. “It’s Winchester, isn’t it? You’re Mary’s boys.” It wasn’t a question. Dean and Sam exchanged a long look before finally they nodded together in confirmation.

“You have her eyes,” Jerry said, looking towards Dean, “and you just look so much like her,” he said, as he turned to Sam. “We dated in school. She was the most beautiful girl in the year, but she didn’t seem to know it, otherwise what would she have been doing with a loser like me.” Jerry smiled briefly, a quick quirk of his lips as if he was not sure he could do it anymore. “We went to prom together, although she asked me. Always was the brave one. I didn’t feel so brave when I went to pick her up, her dad was very intimidating.” He glanced over at the brothers again. “Meaning no disrespect to your grandfather of course. Here, I think there’s a picture in there somewhere.”

Jerry reached for the book in Sam’s hand and flicked to the pages at the back, which were brightly coloured, with couples smiling at the camera or each other. He came to rest on a page and presented it back to Sam and Dean.

“Here,” he said, tapping a thick finger on the page. “She looked gorgeous all the time of course, but she looked particularly stunning that night.” Dean swallowed hard as he looked at the full length portrait of his mom. She was staring straight into the camera, her long blonde hair pinned up into elaborate curls. She wore a full length light blue dress with a cream shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Mary held the hand of the younger version of the man sitting opposite them, but seemed to be keeping her distance. “It was over that summer she met John, and she broke up with me. I didn’t blame her really, I was never good enough for her.” Jerry’s eyes were misty and he gazed off into the distance, lost in memories. “Anyway,” Jerry finally exclaimed. “Sorry about me rambling on. How is Mary?” Jerry looked back at Dean and Sam again. “And John of course. They moved away before they were married, and I haven’t heard from them since.”

Dean was horrified. He had never thought that they might have to break the news of his parent’s deaths to the man who had clearly loved his mother. He looked across at Sam and saw his own expression mirrored on his brother’s face. Dean straightened his shoulders, and made eye contact with Jerry for the first time, feeling it was his duty as the eldest to break the news. Dean almost changed his mind at Jerry’s hopeful expression, but he knew it had to be said.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but they’re both dead. Mary died.” Dean almost choked on the words, in a way he had not experienced in a long time, as he watched Jerry’s face crumble. “It happened when I was four, in a house fire.”

“No,” gasped Jerry. He buried his head in his hands and his shoulders began to shake.

“John died more recently. He never really recovered from Mary’s death,” Dean continued. Jerry began to sob loudly. Sam and Dean looked at each other, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Long moments passed, but eventually Jerry’s sobs stilled. He sat up and wiped his eyes with a tissue he pulled from his pocket.

“I’m sorry. It’s such a shock. I’ve thought of her often over the last twenty, or I suppose, thirty years. She’s the one I let get away. I’m of course sad about your Dad too, but Mary… she must have been so young.”

Sam nodded somberly. “She was very young. It was tragic, and we lost so much that day. Now that you know, we need to be honest with you. We’re not here to arrange a school reunion, I’m sorry we lied to you, we’re trying to track down some belongings of our Mother’s, some of her treasured possessions. We found her jewellery box, and one of the things in it was a broken piece of quartz. We also found her diary.” Dean looked at Sam in surprise at the lie, but quickly schooled his expression. “I think you have the other piece of quartz. We wondered if you could give it to us. So few of her belongs survived the fire you see.” Sam’s eyes watered, and he looked as though he was about to cry, but the look he shot towards Dean told him to go along with it, and so Dean tried to look as upset as he could, which was not difficult at this point.

Jerry looked startled, then hesitant, and his eyes flickered towards the shelf over the fireplace. He finally stood up from his chair and picked an item up from the mantelpiece. He returned to the chair and unfurled his hand to reveal a tear shaped piece of rose quartz, the yin to the yang section Dean had in his pocket. Jerry gripped the stone in his hand again, hiding it from the brothers’ sight. Dean pulled the piece out of his pocket and presented it to Jerry, who stared at it for a long moment before speaking.

“Your mom gave this to me to remind me never to hurt her again. She was my first love and I’ve never met anyone that could match up to her kind heart.”

“You never married?” Sam asked gently.

Jerry shook his head. “We were so young, I hurt her and she forgave me. She made me a better man. It’s because of her that I know that the right thing to do is to give this to you, I know that she would want her sons to have as much of her as she can. I will give it to you, because it’s what she would have wanted. But you have to promise me that you’ll be the best men you can be, and always treat your women the best that you can.”

Dean coughed, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable as his thoughts were unwittingly drawn to Cas.

Sam nodded eagerly. "We promise, and we'll take good care of it," Sam said quietly.

Jerry held his hand out with the stone in it, and Dean reached out to take it. He sat back with a piece of quartz heart in each hand and silently resolved that if they got through this, and they were able to retrieve any of the ingredients after the spell, he would return both sections of the heart to Jerry. The brothers left a short time later, leaving Jerry to his grief.

They were pleased to have another ingredient in the bag, but both felt somber after recounting their mother's death to someone who had loved her. When Sam and Dean got back to the motel room, Dean slumped onto his bed and buried his head into his pillow. From the soft whump he heard, Sam had done exactly the same. Cas fluttered into the room, but before he could ask anything and break the dreary silence, Dean sat up, pulled both pieces of the heart from his pocket and passed them over to the angel. Cas slotted them neatly together, and looked at them darkly, as if they had mortally offended him, just by existing. The dampened glow that had been present in both halves began to pulse more strongly, and Cas’ face smoothed as the light got brighter. Dean had to shade his eyes, and look away as it got too much to bear. Suddenly the light went out, but before Dean could raise his head to see what had happened, a hand was thrust in front of his face, and a whole rose quartz heart placed in the middle of his palm; a fire still burned in the centre. Dean cradled it and watched the flames flicker and glow. He could not meet Cas’ eyes.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry chapters are a bit sporadic at the moment. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Hopefully chapter 9 will be up in the next week to ten days. It's a bit of an epic one with Dean and Cas' relationship coming to a head... figuratively and literally! *nudge nudge wink wink* 
> 
> I hope you'll come back for that!


	9. An Evening Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers and Cas have an evening off and hit a bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the blossoming of the relationship between Dean and Cas. I hope you enjoy it, it is unashamedly fluffy.
> 
> Thanks as ever to Linoresearch for beta support!

A few hours and a nap later, Dean was feeling jubilant about the day’s success.

“We should go out tonight,” he said. “How ‘bout we hit the local bar, get a couple of their best cheeseburgers and a bucket of beers, and see where we go from there?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam nodded.

“Cas?” Dean had not asked why the angel was still hanging around in the motel room, it was no one’s business but his own if he decided that he quite liked having the angel around.

Cas started out of his reverie and looked at Dean in surprise. “You wish for me to join you?”

“Yeah man, you did good today. Least we can do is buy you a burger and a beer. So what do you say?” Dean’s grin widened at Cas’ barely perceptible nod.

A short time later, they were seated in a brown leather booth, in a small unremarkable bar. Dean pushed his plate away letting out a satisfied sigh, as Cas still picked at his burger.

“You going to eat that, or play with it?” Dean asked. He could not help staring at Cas’ hands as he picked another fry up and popped it into his mouth.

“I have noticed that you eat very quickly. You’ve gone without before. Are you concerned that you will return to the days where you don’t know where your next meal will come from? I’m sure the barmaid is more than happy for you to finish your meal before she takes your plate away.”

Dean shifted awkwardly, and Sam chuckled before he pushed his own plate away. “I’m going to leave you to deal with that,” Sam said, standing up. “I’ll be at the bar if you want anything.” Dean and Cas both shook their head, and Sam ambled away.

Dean moved round the booth, sidling in to sit beside Cas and bumped their shoulders together.

“Y’know, you can’t just say things like that, you’ll make a guy self-conscious.” Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Dean continued. “I went without to make sure Sammy had enough. I never regreted it. But it does mean I enjoy my food when I can.” He smiled, not meeting Cas’ eyes.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester.” Castiel said softly.

“Nah, it’s only what any brother would do. Anyway, I wanted to show you this,” Dean said as he pulled a worn piece of paper out of his pocket. He smoothed it out on the table. It was a photograph, of a young blonde woman, with a smiling, dark haired child in her arms. It looked as if it had been folded and unfolded a thousand times, and the corners were missing. “It’s me when I was about two. Sammy hadn’t even been thought of yet, it was just the three of us. We don’t have many pictures of her, and this is the only one I have of the two of us. It’s more than Sam has though.” Dean told him, staring fondly at the photograph, stroking over it with his thumb.

“Would you like me to tell you more stories about what I remember from her childhood?”

Dean looked up straight into Cas’ eyes and smiled. “I’d love that.”

Cas knotted his hands together, staring at them as if the story he was about to tell was written there.

“Mary had always wanted a pet of her own,” he started. “But Deanna had never allowed her to have one. She had been pestering her mother for months in the run up to her seventh birthday, dropping hints about a certain breed of cat or dog, and how they were easier to look after than other types. Deanna stood firm though, she didn’t want to end up with the responsibility of looking after a pet when Mary had gotten bored of it. However, after weeks of Mary talking about little else, and all of the research she had put into finding out all of this information, Deanna started to wonder if Mary would get bored of it after all. She decided to buy her something easier to care for than a cat or a dog, and planned to get her a guinea pig as a surprise birthday present.”

Dean watched Cas tell the story, entranced by the furrow in Cas’ brow as he looked down at his hands, and occasionally licked his lips in an unconscious gesture. As Cas relaxed into telling the story his face smoothed, the wrinkle disappearing bit by bit, more every time Dean made interested noises in the right places, and he smiled softly when Dean laughed out loud at the bit where the guinea pig got loose, and Mary and Deanna had torn the house up looking under floorboards, only to find it in Mary’s wardrobe a few hours later.

They were broken out of their moment by a flash of light, and they turned as one to see Sam – grinning – standing a few feet away from the table with a polaroid camera in his hands. A slim brunette stood behind him, smiling indulgently.

“What the hell was that, Sam?” Dean exclaimed, annoyed at the interruption.

Sam smirked and pulled the photograph from the camera, putting it into his pocket. “Lindsey was kind enough to let me play with her Polaroid. I always wanted one when I was a kid. I was looking for something to take a picture of, and you two were just the perfect subjects.”

“I’m sorry about him,” Dean said, turning his back on Sam and ignoring the rest of whatever the hell he had been saying. Cas shook his head and resumed examining his half plate of food, as if it contained the answer to life, the universe and everything, twisting and re-twisting his fingers together absently. Dean felt a strong desire to put his hand over those long fingers, to lean in and see if he could reanimate the stony face that had been so lively moments before. Dean wanted him to speak, wanted him to hear the gravel of Cas’ voice shaped around different words, urgent words, perhaps Dean’s own name spoken on a moan... Dean’s brain slammed on the brakes as he realised exactly where his mind had taken him.

Dean already knew he loved to listen to Cas talk, and it was becoming a real problem. He also had another problem, a more physical one that would be quite noticeable if he had to stand up anytime soon. He cursed at his brain’s betrayal, and started to hum a waltz in his head, trying for distraction in the hope it would make his not-so-little problem go away. It was only when Cas looked at him with amusement crinkling his eyes that Dean realised he was humming out loud.

“I listened to that song at least twice a day for just over ten years. It wasn’t until I heard you humming it that I realised how much I missed it.” Cas smiled, meeting Dean’s eyes for the first time in what felt like aeons.

“It was one of the songs my Mom used to hum all the time. She used to sing the Beatles to me to put me to sleep, but she used to hum Sleeping Beauty when she was baking. I guess I know why now.”

“I am happy that I can fill in some of the gaps that you have from your childhood Dean. I enjoy being a connection to your past. It makes me feel as if we have known each other for much longer than we in fact have.” Castiel’s eyes were soft as he met Dean's. For a heart stopping second, Dean thought Cas was leaning towards him, but he seemed to catch himself and Cas shook his head slightly.

Dean edged out of the booth before he could allow himself to think about what that might mean. “I need a drink, Cas, can I get you one too?” Cas nodded, looking back down at the table in front of him. Dean felt a strong sense of loss without the connection of eye contact between them.

What was he thinking? Dean berated himself as he walked to the bar. Even without all the other complications; the bad timing, the fact that they are technically different species, how could he think that a celestial being, a literal angel, would want to have anything to do with him and his twisted little soul?

He ordered two whiskeys and scanned the room for Sam. He found him sitting in another booth opposite the dark-haired girl with the camera, ‘Lindsey,’ his traitorous brain supplied. They were clearly hitting it off, and Sam looked more relaxed than Dean had seen him in a long time. Lindsey was curling a lock of hair around her finger, again and again, which was usually a good sign a girl was interested. Dean wondered, with a snort, whether Sammy might need to get his own room tonight, or if Lindsey might invite him back to her place, either way, he doubted they would see Sam back at their own room any time soon.

His gaze drifted across the room, settling on Cas, still sitting where Dean had left him. He looked a little lost, a little sad, and Dean wanted to rush back over there, take him in his arms and prove that it would all be alright in the end. He heard the clink of two glasses landing on the bar behind him, and he turned to pay.

A minute later Dean was back, sitting next to Cas, pushing one of the filled glasses over to him. Cas caught the glass as it slide across the table-top and took a sip. He did not look at Dean.

“Sammy looks like he’s gonna get lucky tonight. We might not manage to drag him away.” Dean said.

“I don’t understand that reference Dean. Why does Sam’s luck mean that he can’t return with you?” Cas straightened up, looking for Sam to see if he could help.

Dean grinned at his confusion. “No, Cas. I mean he’s met someone. A girl someone,” he sniggered. “You make it sound like a bad chat up line, you know… Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“No, Dean, I have not fallen. I can return at any time.” Dean laughed out loud, and Cas just tilted his head, thoroughly confused.

“Oh, Cas, don’t you ever go changing on me.” Dean’s smile was wistful now.

“I feel that I have changed much, Dean, since I met you. I see many things with a different perspective, despite spending many centuries observing human kind. It seems different, seeing it with you.” Cas turned to face Dean, and now it was Dean’s turn to look away - anywhere but at Castiel.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “My perspective don’t mean much, Cas. I’m just one guy, with a hell of a lot more baggage than most. Y’know, most people in the world don’t know about the monsters that lurk in the dark, so it can’t haunt them, and they’re happier for it. You shouldn’t take my view of the world as if it is worth anything.” He kept his head averted, looking at his glass, not wanting to see Cas’ reaction to his words. Dean did not want to see pity in his eyes, or agreement that he was not worth much as he moved away, moved on to talk to some other human, someone more worthy of his attention.

Castiel reached out and placed a hand softly on Dean’s cheek, cradling it with more care and attention than he was used to. Dean leaned into the touch, eyes drifting closed before he realised what was happening. When his brain caught up, his eyes flew open, but he did not move away. Instead, he simply turned his head, so he could see into Castiel's eyes. Dean was learning to read the angel better now, and Castiel was radiating longing; intense longing, alongside sadness, and anger at Dean’s self-deprecating words. Dean felt his breath catch in his throat, more than a little terrified at the depths of feeling he could see.

“You don’t see yourself clearly Dean,” Cas said, his voice quiet, just for Dean. “I do. I see into your soul, and it is beautiful.” Dean opened his mouth to deny it, to give a speech about what hell does to souls, what years of hunting things and losing people had done to him, even before that. But he shut his mouth again. He could see that Castiel believed what he said, he truly believed Dean had a beautiful soul, even if Dean himself did not believe it.

Although he knew in theory that Castiel had been the one to save him from hell, he had not given it much consideration. He thought about it now, and wondered what it meant for both of them. Castiel had saved him from himself as much as from the pit. He had seen Dean at his worst, at his very weakest, and had still chosen to save him. But more than that, he had chosen to stay with him, to sit with him here tonight, and tell him stories about his family.

Dean felt his expression turn from denial at Castiel’s words, into wonder. He felt joy in a way he had not allowed himself to feel for a very long time. He turned to Castiel and leaned towards him. Dean did not – could not – pull away this time. His lips met Castiel’s in a chaste, questioning kiss. Castiel gave his answer in the movement of his hand, sliding it from Dean’s cheek to the back of his neck, to pull him in closer. Dean smiled against Cas’ lips and tilted his head, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Castiel responded in kind, open to him and flicking his tongue forward to taste Dean’s lips.

Dean felt the vibration as Cas gave a quiet moan at the new contact. It brought him back to himself for a moment, reminding him where they were. He broke away, breathing heavily. Castiel met his eyes, amazement written in them, reflecting what Dean was feeling, magnifying it.

“This isn’t the place for this conversation,” Dean muttered.

“We weren’t exactly having…” Castiel started. Dean silenced him with a finger to his lips. Cas went very still and Dean trembled at the thought of pushing his finger into Cas’ mouth, feeling the warm wet slide of his tongue.

“Would you like to finish this… _conversation…_ back at my place?” It was a cheesy line, but Castiel’s eyes widened in understanding. The angel nodded. “Then let’s get outta here.” Dean had to stop himself from taking Castiel's hand, his fingers flexing at his side, as they made their way towards the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. The next chapter will finally earn the fic its explicit rating, I hope you'll come back and read it.


	10. Polaroid Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smutty smut smut...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be the start of the 'eventual smut'. If you would rather skip it, the story will return to proper plot next chapter, I promise.
> 
> Hope you enjoy ;)

They were barely out of the Impala before Cas was pressed against him, kissing Dean roughly as they stumbled towards the motel room. Dean tried to pull away, put a little space between them so he could unlock the door, but Cas was unwilling to let him go completely, and moved to stand behind Dean, trailing his hands across his chest and tilting his head to leave gentle bites on Dean’s neck. Cas’ hands roamed freely, smoothing over the dips and curves of Dean’s ribs until his fingertips found and pinched Dean’s nipple, rubbing it to hardness, through his shirt. Dean pushed the door open too quickly, letting it slam back against the wall, shaking loose a curtain of dust that fell from the grimy ceiling. He dragged Cas into the room by fistful of trench coat, kicking the door closed again behind them, shutting out the night and the rest of the world.

Turning in Cas' arms, Dean kissed the angel deeply. Winding Cas’ tie around his hands, Dean broke off the kiss, letting Cas’ mouth chase his for a moment as he stared into deep blue eyes, and felt the pounding of his heart as it knocked against his ribs, grown too big and going too fast; he could hardly breathe. He pulled Cas along by his tie, keeping him close, and did not stop until the back of his knees knocked against the edge of the bed. Dean stilled, suddenly wary of taking the final step but Cas was determined, implacable, he knew what Dean wanted and had no fear. Cas closed what little space was left between them, pressing the full length of his body, so near that Dean ended up falling on to the bed, with a gasp.

Cas nudged Dean's knees apart and stood between them. He bent down to kiss Dean again, moaning a little as Dean took Cas’ lower lip between his teeth and pulled, gently. Dean began to tug  Castiel's belt free of its loops and dropped it, buckle rattling, onto the floor. He turned his attention to tackling Cas' pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down to pool around his ankles. It should have been funny, should have made the angel look ridiculous; instead it was insanely hot, and Dean could have sobbed with the overwhelming desire heating his veins, making itself known between his legs. Cas broke off the kiss before pushing his trench coat and suit jacket from his shoulders. He let them fall to the floor behind him as he stepped free of his pants, kicking them aside carelessly. As Cas turned his attention to removing his shirt, Dean leant forward to nuzzle against the obvious bulge in Cas' boxers, raising his hand to cup Cas’ balls through the soft material, eliciting a rumble of appreciation from above.

Dean looked up and was momentarily distracted by the beauty of Cas’ bare chest. He ran his hands across Cas’ stomach, it was flat, not obviously muscled, but Dean felt the immovable strength contained under his tanned skin. He worked his way up, running fingers over Cas’ nipples, pausing to tweak them, and sending a shiver down Cas’ spine for his efforts. Dean ran his hands back down, pausing at the waistband of Cas’ boxers before slipping underneath the elastic. He nudged them down and forward to release the angel's stiff cock. Dean leant forward to breathe against the base of it as he pushed Cas’ underwear the rest of the way down, over his fleshy ass and down his muscled thighs.  

As soon as Dean’s hands were free he gripped Cas’ bare ass firmly, and set to stroking long fingers against his perineum. Cas’ dick twitched at the new contact. He breathed in sharply, letting out a soft 'Dean,' as he exhaled. Dean kissed his way up the flushed shaft of his angel before finally taking the swollen head in his mouth. The angel let out a filthy groan, it was the dirtiest, hottest thing Dean had ever heard, and his own cock twitched hard in response. Dean moved his head down, slowly taking more of Cas into his mouth. He tasted amazing; a little salt from the pre-come pearling on the head of his erection, and underneath, the taste of the beach on a warm summers day, and the smell of autumn leaves in the dappled light of a forest.

It must have only been a few seconds that Dean sat there, unmoving, lost to the experience of Cas' shaft in his mouth, but as far as he was concerned it could have been a life time.

He felt as much as he heard Cas giving a low, rumbling chuckle. "Dean, I am enjoying the attention immensely, however I feel like you might be slightly overdressed for the occasion."

Dean reluctantly pulled away, unable to resist grazing his teeth against the sensitive part just below the head as he did so. He looked up into the gaze of the angel standing over him, and was pleased to see that Cas’ eyes were dark, wide with lust and desire. The look went on for longer than would be normal with a human partner, and Dean began to blush, but he did not, could not, break the connection between them. It had scared him in the beginning, the way Cas seemed to be able to slide inside and look straight into his soul. There was no fear now, it was downright hot, as if Cas could read exactly what Dean wanted him to do, and could see what Dean was planning to do to him.

For perhaps the first time since they had met, Cas was the one who broke eye contact, leaning over to grip the bottom of Dean's t-shirt and pulling it up, insistently. Dean cooperated, lifting his arms to allow the angel to pull the shirt up over his head, adding it to the crumpled pile of clothes already on the floor. Dean lowered his arms and moved to grab the angel's hips, but Cas gasped and stepped away as his gaze fell on the hand print on Dean's arm.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?” Dean said jokingly, standing up and stepping back into Cas' space again. “Is that it, you get me half naked and _really_ turned on, and then want to run away?"

"Dean... Did... Did I do that to you?" Cas whispered, sounding hoarse from both desire and horror.

Dean had to clear his throat, confused and feeling bereft of Castiel’s touch. "I think so? It was there when I got back from hell. It wasn't there before I went, so I kinda assumed, you know?"

Cas took another step back, distress suddenly clouding his face. "Dean, maybe I should go. Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"No!" Dean was shocked at Cas’ conclusion. "It's just been there. It doesn't bother me. It doesn't even hurt, you can't go because of this!" There was a wobble in his voice as he finished speaking that betrayed his distress. He would never normally ask anyone to stay with him, to stay _for_ him. If someone wanted to go then it was right that they should. But he was not about to let Cas walk out when they were so close to something that might change both their lives, and change them for the better.

He stepped forward and grabbed Cas’ hands,. He placed one of them on the top of his right arm, and one on his left arm, just below the handprint. He looked into the angel’s face until the he met Dean’s eyes. "Please don't go," Dean said.

"But Dean, what if I hurt you again? What if angels and humans can't..."

"You could never hurt me."

"But..."

Dean leant forward and kissed Castiel softly on the lips before he could finish the sentence. Cas’ hand slipped upwards and touched the handprint, skin on skin, for the first time. There was a flash of white, bright light, and Dean felt an overwhelming sense of being _home_. It was their connection, a pulse of energy like closing a circuit, something that had grown between them on a level Dean had never experienced. He could feel the form of Cas’ true self; as tall as a skyscraper, as ancient as the seas the first fish had crawled from, and the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. He was at peace, and felt perfectly safe, perhaps for the first time since before the night of the fire that changed his world.

***

Castiel could see the golden light of Dean's soul, encompassing his body down to each fingertip. He had seen it before of course, as he rebuilt the Righteous Man cell by cell. The difference now was the glow of white light within the handprint on Dean’s shoulder. As he covered it with his hand it called to him, in welcome and recognition. Cas felt as if a lost piece of the jigsaw had been returned; he felt whole, complete, even though he had not previously felt that anything had been lost. He finally understood why humans left pieces of their soul in their most precious things.

There was a sound, on the edge of Cas’ perception, barely there and almost beyond the range of angelic hearing. It was coming from the golden light. He looked closer and found that the piece of grace that had separated from him was intertwined with the golden light of Dean’s soul, woven tightly in an unbreakable bond. The golden light reached out towards the white of Cas’ grace, and Cas realised that the noise was coming from Dean's soul. It sung to him in recognition, in welcome, in utter happiness.

Cas slid his hands down from the tops of Dean's arms to wrap them around his waist, pulling their bodies together in a desperate embrace. All doubts now gone, Cas started to unbutton Dean's pants, pushing them, and his boxers along with them, to the ground, eager for them both to naked, to have no barriers between them. Dean pulled them both back towards the bed, shucking his remaining clothes as he went. Dean sank down on his back, pulling Castiel on top of him, mouths firmly pressed together again, tongues exploring every detail.

Cas smoothed his hands over Dean's body, skimming over his hip before brushing lightly against his cock, making Dean groan at the new contact. Cas moved to Dean's neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark before moving across to Dean’s left shoulder, pausing above the handprint to take a breath, before licking the shivering pink skin of the imprint he had left on the other man. Dean jerked as if he had been electrocuted, yelling Cas' name before mumbling, "don't stop."

Cas licked him again, causing a whimper to fall from Dean’s throat. Cas looked at Dean, writhing beautifully on the bed, and took Dean’s shaft more firmly in his hand, running it up and down, enjoying the feel of the friction. He was close just from watching Dean fall apart underneath him, and he thought Dean was too. He stooped to lick over the handprint one more time.

***

Dean came with a yell. The sensation on his dick and his arm at the same time too much, too intense for him to hold back. His muscles spasmed and white liquid spurted across their stomachs, hitting the underside of Cas’ arm. It was the most intense orgasm Dean had ever experienced, and it took a minute for his brain to start working again. Cas lay beside him, pressing his lips to the handprint once, before laying his head against Dean's shoulder.

"Hey, you weren't thinking we were done were you?" Dean said quietly, as his mind was able to focus again.

"I'm ok, Dean..."

Dean cut him off with a kiss, swallowing the rest of his words as he stroked his tongue along the angels bottom lip. It was his turn to taste Cas' neck, to kiss a path down his chest to take Cas’ swollen dick in his mouth. Their connection pulsed and Cas was starting to pant, alternating between muttering, "yes, oh please yes", and repeating Dean's name over and over.

As Dean sucked Cas all the way down, he managed to groan out, "Dean, I want...." Before biting down on his bottom lip to keep from yelling. Dean reluctantly let go of his cock, and got off the bed. "No Dean, where are you going?" Cas moaned, brokenly.

"Don't worry, Angel, I'll be right back," Dean said, as he padded over to the bag he had thrown into the corner, and pulled a bottle of lube from a side pocket. He passed it to Cas who immediately pumped some into his hand, and slicked up his fingers. Dean was getting hard again watching Cas’ careful preparations, each move gentle but precise.

He lay next to Cas, on his front, leaning his head on his arms. Cas ran his fingers lightly from Dean's neck to the top of his ass, and then breathed lightly over the faint wet trail he had left, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down Dean's back. The angel dragged his hand down further to run his finger lightly around Dean's hole. Dean moaned in anticipation, and Cas did it again, teasing before pushing one finger inside the warmth of Dean’s body.

Dean clutched at the sheets, enjoying the combination of pleasure and pain, and forced himself to relax. Their connection had rekindled at the contact, and it helped, his soul sang at the intimate touch. Feeling safe made it easy to relax as Cas slipped another finger inside him and started to move them gently, in and out, as Cas felt the tension leave Dean's body. He went deeper, crooking his fingers, and Dean took a sharp breath as Cas brushed over his prostate; a wave of pleasure flowing straight to his dick. He was fully hard again now, his cock trapped between his stomach and the bed below him. Cas added a third finger the next time he pushed in, scissoring them, making Dean writhe as he hit the sweet spot again.

"More, Castiel, please, more." Cas growled at the use of his full name. He pulled back and Dean whimpered at the loss, as their connection faded. Cas lubed his hand up again, and pumped it over his erection, just enough to get it slick.

"Dean, will you roll over for me? I want to be able to see you," Cas asked softly. Dean immediately rolled onto his back, sat up slightly, and spread his legs as wide as he could.

"Better?" Dean asked. Cas just nodded in reply. "Then get over here, Angel".

Cas crawled forward, moving between Dean's legs to line his erection up against his hole. Dean automatically wrapped his legs around Cas’ waist, using them to pull Cas into him. The angel moved his hips slowly, letting out a low moan as he edged forward, using as much control as he could manage.

"Castiel," Dean groaned, as the other man bottomed out. Their link was back, in blinding, dizzying force. A white glow surrounded them and all Dean could see was the bright blue of Cas’ eyes. They both paused for a moment, enjoying being joined and the connection they felt, before Dean couldn't bear it any longer. "Move, Cas," he stuttered out.

And Cas did, thrusting slowly at first, but as Dean began to move his hips, Cas seemed to realize he was not going to hurt him, and was quickly pounding in and out to match the pace Dean was setting, rocking his whole body with the movement. Heat built, pooling at the base of Dean’s spine, and from the noises Cas was making, he seemed to be close too.

"Cas, I'm going too..." Dean gasped, his words cut off as Cas slammed his hand onto the handprint without stopping the movement of his hips. Dean came again, hard, as their connection overwhelmed him, clenching around Cas’ cock and drawing the angel’s orgasm from him at the same time. Dean felt Cas’ joy, his pleasure echoed through their bond, building on his own until it was too much. When Dean passed out, it was white light that he fell into instead of black.

When Dean woke, he found that Cas was surrounding him, their legs intertwined, with one of Cas' arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the other resting over his handprint. He was warm, as though they were wrapped in the highest quality duvet. There was a soft rustling all around and Dean realized that they were cocooned in Cas' wings. The angel’s eyes were shut, and he looked peaceful. Dean closed his eyes and quickly fell into a deep sleep, feeling satisfied and safe.

The next morning, Dean felt a sense of warmth and comfort so prevalent that he did not want to open his eyes and ruin the illusion. It took a minute or so to realise that there really was a warm body curled against his back. He rolled over very slowly and cracked open one eye. Deep blue stared back at him; Cas, with the craziest sex hair Dean had ever seen. He darted in for a kiss, feeling daring, despite what had happened between them, he was not sure what response he would get now. He was rewarded when Cas kissed him back, and a quick morning kiss quickly turned into a full on make out session.

Eventually Dean broke away, panting. “Angels may not get morning breath, but I sure as hell do. I’ll be back in a minute.” He pulled himself reluctantly from Cas’ arms and padded to the bathroom, ignoring Cas’ pout.

He stopped as he noticed something pushed under the door to their motel room. As he stooped to pick it up, he realized it was a Polaroid picture, with a post it note attached to the front. Dean recognized Sam’s scrawl instantly.

_‘I thought it best if I got another room, although you didn’t leave a sock on the door. Glad you two worked things out. Give me a call when you’re up and we’ll go for breakfast, no rush.’_

Dean blushed as he realised that Sam could have come through the door at any point last night. Dean had forgotten all about him after they left the bar. Sammy did not seem to mind though, and he considered it a blessing that he did not need to explain the situation to him, since Sam seemed to have figured out there was something between him and Cas before Dean did. Shaking his head, Dean pulled the post it away from the picture and gazed down at it.

It was the picture that Sam had taken of them in the bar, and Dean could hardly believe it was him. He looked relaxed and happy, not like how he looked in the mirror every morning. And Cas, well Cas looked like he always did, gorgeous in Dean’s eyes, but there was something else there too, , something special.

Dean did not hear Cas walk up behind him, did not realized he was there, until a warm pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, and a head nuzzled into his shoulder.

“That’s you and me, before,” Cas said, innocently.

Dean turned in his arms, holding the picture between them. He saw the same expression on Cas’ face now. It was an expression of pure love and adoration, and the realization slammed into him as it made him feel everything he had felt last night, only more so.

Cas seemed to sense the change in Dean’s mood. He kissed Dean gently, murmuring, “Come back to bed.”

“Two minutes, and I’ll be back,” Dean said, remembering his original reason for getting up.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Cas said as he strolled back to the bed. Dean wondered if Cas knew what a cliché he was, but decided he did not really care, it was kind of cute.

Dean looked into the mirror after he had brushed his teeth, and was surprised to see the face from the photograph staring back at him. Maybe it was him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, it's my first time writing anything like this so I hope it's ok.
> 
> Thank you to Linoresearch for beta'ing the smut and making it flow properly!


	11. I love the smell of gunpowder in the morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys return to Bobby's to seek further information about gunpowder from the colt and come in to contact with a familiar enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I'm still going and still writing, but life is a bit crazy!
> 
> I've updated the tags again, and so you should check these out. I don't want to give any more details because *spoilers*, but i'll put some notes in the end just in case.

It was a couple of hours before Dean finally rang Sam, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. Ten minutes after there was a tentative knock on the door.

Dean bounded over to pull the door open, an enthusiastic smile spread across his face. “Sammy,” Dean exclaimed. He paused when he realized Sam had his eyes closed.

“Are you decent?” Sam asked, screwing his face up even more before cracking one eyelid open.

“I’ve never been decent,” Dean said. “But I’m wearing clothes, and so is Cas, if that’s what you mean.” Dean grinned as he beckoned Sam inside. Sam smirked at Dean, looking around the room for Cas.

“You had a good night then?” Sam said. There was amusement in his voice as he surveyed the mess Dean and Cas had left behind. Sheets from both beds scattered over the floor, with Dean’s clothes marking a trail between the bed and the door. Dean shrugged, as he stooped to pick up his clothes, shoving them in his duffle as he went. “Where shall we go for breakfast?” Sam asked, leaning against the wall beside the door, watching Dean work his way around the room.

“How about Bobby’s?” Dean said. “He still has books and stuff from when we were looking for the colt before. He might have something that could help us track down some gunpowder.”

“It’s a good plan, Dean, but it’ll be more like dinner than breakfast by the time we get there,” Sam said.

“Not if we hop onboard the angel express.”

“That had better not be a euphemism.” Sam gave Dean bitchface number four (you are deranged and you disgust me).

Dean chuckled in response. “No such luck. Cas can zap us back to Bobby’s so we don’t have to drive.”

“Where is he anyway?” Sam asked. “You said he was wearing clothes so I assumed he was in here somewhere.”

“I sent him to get groceries for breakfast, and he’d better be wearing clothes at the store otherwise we’re going to have to go and bail the angel out of jail,” Dean said, smirking to himself at the image of Cas naked in a jail cell.

“You sent an _angel of the lord_ to get you groceries,” Sam said, in disbelief.

Dean nodded and shrugged. “He offered. I said I’d make breakfast when we get to Bobby’s but you can never be sure what Bobby will have in his fridge.”

“So, since Cas isn’t here, are we going to talk about last night?” Sam asked.

Dean blushed and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, looking anxiously at his little brother. “Do we have to?”

“Look, Dean, I know you don’t like to talk about feelings and stuff, but you've been having eye sex with the angel for a while. It was starting to get uncomfortable to be around you two, y’know? I’m happy you finally got together… as long as you’re happy.”

Dean sighed in defeat. “I’m happy, I guess. It’s not going to be easy. We’re saving the world again, and who knows if heaven is going to let him stick around. I figure I’ll enjoy it while it lasts and try not to get in too deep, so it doesn't hurt too much when it ends.”

“I think it might be a bit late for that. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Do you know the way you look at him? You got the photo, right?”

Dean dug it out of his pocket and looked at it again. “Yeah,” he mumbled, smiling at the picture.

“He loves you, Dean,” Sam said, quietly, almost as if he did not want Dean to hear.

“We only got together last night Sam.”

“I know that. It doesn’t change the fact that he already loved you. And you love him too.”

Dean shook his head, more in disbelief than denial. He knew deep down that it was true. He did love Cas, and was loved by him in return; he had just been ignoring it because he knew Cas would have to go home someday.

Their conversation was brought to a halt by the noise of flapping wings, signaling Cas’ arrival. He was empty handed, and Dean looked at him in confusion. “Didn’t you go to the store?”

“Hello Cas, nice to see you Cas, I love you Cas,” Sam mumbled behind him in disapproval. Dean shot a glare over his shoulder at his annoying moose of a brother.

Cas was staring at Sam in confusion. “Hello, Sam. Erm… nice to see you too?” Cas’ voice trailed up at the end, making his words a question.

Dean grinned as he realized the problem. “Sam wasn’t declaring that he loves you, Cas. He was being disapproving of how I said hello.” Dean strolled over and hugged Cas briefly. “Hi” Dean said, before glaring at Sam as if to say ‘happy now?’ Sam grinned back.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said. “The groceries are in the trunk of the car. Are you ready to go now?”  

“Not quite, I’ve still got to finish packing.” Cas blinked at Dean while Sam rolled his eyes. The weight of the bag in Dean’s hand suddenly increased, forcing him to shift his weight to compensate for the unexpected change. “What the hell?” Dean looked around the room and realized that all the clothes had gone from the floor and the beds were made. “You’re awesome. I’m going to like having you around.” Dean winked at Cas. Yesterday, Dean would have said that Cas was giving him a blank look in return, but now he thought he could detect a tiny smirk hovering at the edge of the angels lips. “Well, what do you know,” Dean said. “I guess I’m ready to go after all.”

“Finally,” Sam exhaled, and moved towards the door.

“Wait, Sam,” Cas said. He grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him over to stand beside Sam. He pushed two fingers against their foreheads, and suddenly the world was spinning.

When Dean’s vision resolved itself, they were standing in a familiar scrapyard, piles of cars behind them, and the Impala waiting like a sleeping panther at their side. “Awesome.” Dean repeated, before the front door to the house was flung open, with a loud bang as it collided with the wall behind it. Bobby was suddenly on his porch, shotgun in hand.

“How did you two idjits get here?” Bobby shouted over to them. Both boys stepped to the side to reveal Castiel standing just behind them. “You again!” Bobby exclaimed. “The last time we met, you put me in a heap on the floor. Explain to me why I shouldn’t do that to you, right here, right now.” He scowled at Cas, who looked at the floor and did not speak. Dean found it funny that Bobby could reduce an angel of the lord to an embarrassed schoolboy scuffing his shoes in the dirt.

“Leave him be, Bobby, he’s with me. He’s helping us out with this Death thing,” Dean said as he strode up to Bobby, giving him a brief hug as he moved into the house. Sam followed, and Cas trailed behind, standing in front of Bobby until finally he said, “Sorry about last time.”

Bobby nodded, satisfied, and stomped into the house. “You coming, boy?” Bobby shouted back when he realized Cas had not followed. Dean lurked beside the door and watched as Castiel balled and unballed his fists a few times, before lifting his chin and walking to the house with a determined look. Cas scowled when he noticed Dean lurking just outside the light from the door and was in the process of walking past when Dean grabbed his wrist, pulling the angel towards him. He felt a thrill of excitement at the fact that Cas let himself be moved. Dean kissed Cas briefly on the lips, a chaste press, nothing more. He pulled away but leant their foreheads together and whispered, “Don’t worry about Bobby. He’s always crotchety in the morning.”

“I heard that,” Bobby called, popping his head back around the corner. His eyes widened in surprise to see Dean and Cas leaning together so intimately. Dean blushed and pulled away, but kept hold of Cas’ wrist, tugging him through to the kitchen

“You never heard anything, old man. Your hearing isn’t that good.” Dean sent Bobby a cheeky grin as he walked past him. “Sam, unload the shopping will ya? We bought breakfast, Bobby.” Dean let go of Cas’ arm in favor of digging around in the cupboards. He pulled out a skillet, setting it on the stove top, ready to start cooking. Cas sat at the table to watch him, and Dean had the sense of being home again. It was a moment of domesticity, a small gesture, stirred and fried and dripping in grease, but a gesture nonetheless. Dean cooked breakfast with a smile on his face, for his family, for his angel; while he still could.

***

Cas could not believe he was eating again; did humans never stop? But Dean looked happy and expectant as he placed the short stack of pancakes in front of him. There was no way Castiel could resist that look, so he’d taken one bite, then another, and another, as Dean watched with approval.

“Good?” Dean asked. Cas nodded, and Dean finally sat down to eat his own breakfast.

“We’ll get our own, shall we?” Bobby snarked. He picked his plate off the counter and brought it over. Sam was right behind him, unable to hide his amusement at the exchange between his brother and the angel. Cas blushed at being the center of attention.

Sam got Bobby up to speed with the latest on the spell whilst they ate. Cas intended to interject if needed, but he and Dean had been unable to pull their eyes away from each other, except to look down at their plates, cutting up crispy bacon, or pouring maple syrup over pancakes. Eventually Cas realized he had barely heard what Sam was saying.

After breakfast Bobby left the room, returning with an armful of books which he dumped into the middle of the table. They all grabbed a book and began the slow task of scanning through each one. It did not take long before Cas threw his down in disgust.

“Too good to research with us, Cas?” Bobby growled.

“I’ve read this book before. There is nothing useful in it. That one,” Cas pointed to the book Sam was reading, “was written by a mad man. The one Dean has was written by a prophet, but before he heard the word of God, so he didn’t actually know anything. Your book was written in the 1920’s by a man of letters so it might have some merit.” Cas took the book from Bobby’s hands and flicked through all the pages in a couple of seconds. “But it does not.” Bobby narrowed his eyes, but Cas met his gaze evenly, refusing to look away.

Dean’s sigh made Cas break off his staring match with Bobby. “Any more books, Bobby? Or are we still at square one with the gunpowder?” Dean said. Cas glanced back and found that Bobby was still glaring at him. “Bobby?” Dean repeated, sharply.

Bobby finally jerked his eyes away from Cas. “This is everything I thought would be helpful.” Bobby looked at the table. “I guess we’ve just been saved a few hours of reading,” he said, begrudgingly.

“Any other ideas?” Dean said.

“I have an idea,” Castiel stated. "Do you know who has the colt?"

"I know that two-bit thief Bella sold it to Lilith, but who knows where it ended up after we ganked her," Dean said, his angry tone indicating that Bella's betrayal still stung.

"Actually, Bella didn't sell it to Lilith. She sold it to a crossroads demon called Crowley. We could summon him, and see what he would want to give it to us."

"And you're only just mentioning this now?" Bobby said, narrowing his eyes at Cas again.

"I am an angel. We avoid contact with demons wherever possible. It seemed prudent to explore other avenues first, and it seemed entirely possible from what Dean has said of your resources that you may have had an alternative." Cas said calmly, feeling more sure of himself now.

"So, we have a demon summoning circle embedded into the basement. Is there anything else that we need?"

"You will need a specific summoning spell for Crowley, rather than the generic crossroads one you already know, but I can give you that." Three men and one angel looked at each other, waiting for someone to come up with an alternative plan.

When nobody did, Sam sighed and stood up. "I hate the basement. Come on, let's get this over with."

***

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Hardy boys. We meet at last,” Crowley drawled, as he appeared beside them. He eyed the devils trap painted on the concrete floor of Bobby’s panic room. “This is really unnecessary, you know. I would have come if you’d asked nicely.”

“Yeah, sure. Because demons always play nice because we asked them nicely.” Dean muttered from his position, leaning against the wall. Crowley was not what he had been expecting. He had an annoying British accent for one, and he was shorter then Dean thought he would be. “We’ve heard on the grape-vine that you’ve got the colt. We want it, so what do you want for it?”

“Straight to the point. I like you, Winchester.” Crowley looked around the room, spotting Sam. “My, my, my. Your brother is rather tall, isn’t he? Rather… animal-like in fact.” Crowley looked Sam up and down, assessing. “I think I’ll call you… Moose.” He winked at Sam, who balled his fists in annoyance. “And you, not-Moose.” Crowley glanced over to Dean before he looked around the rest of the room. “And who else… Feathers! Good to see you again.”

Dean glanced at Castiel in surprise. “You know this douche-nozzle?” he asked.

Cas opened his mouth to answer, but Crowley didn’t give him a chance to speak. “We’ve met,” he smirked. “You know it’s a small supernatural world, NM, most of us have bumped into each other at one time or another.” Dean glared at Crowley. “What? Not-Moose was too long, NM is easier.” Dean rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall, striding to the edge of the circle containing the demon.

“Focus, Crowley. The colt, what do you want for it?”

“My dear boy, I’d give you the colt for free, except that it’s not the colt you really need is it? Tell Uncle Crowley what you actually want; it’s usually easier that way.” Dean looked at Crowley, feeling confused. Crowley rolled his eyes. “Moose, you’re supposed to be the intelligent one, I believe.”

Sam folded his arms, irritated by the slur on his brother. “We need the bullets from the Colt,” Sam said.

“Or, if you want to be even more specific, you want the gunpowder for your spell to free death. You’re using it for smell I assume?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley. “How do you know?” Cas said, voice low and hostile. That’s my angel, Dean thought to himself.

“A, I’m the son of a witch,” Crowley went on. “I know how spells are made up. And B, the whole of heaven and hell is watching you very closely. The soul count is so balanced at the moment that a few handfuls of souls really make a difference in the struggle for power. The loss of the balanced souls is hurting both sides. We need to get Death back on his pale horse sharpish, which is why…” Crowley waved his arm in a dramatic flourish and held out a small, extremely worn tin. “I’ll give you what you need. Free, gratis, on the house. Although you’ll owe me a favor, and I always collect.”

“Done.” Dean reached through the circle to grab the tin, but Crowley pulled it out of his reach, holding it behind his back, giving a cunning smile.

“Oh now, NM, that’s not how we seal a deal, don’t you know anything? A kiss is the only way I ever do that.”

“What?” Dean yelped, pulling away. Dean, Sam and Cas all exchanged glances, all hoping not to be the one to draw the short straw.

“Well, you’re not kissing Cas,” Dean mumbled. He looked at Sam and held out a balled fist turned sideways. Sam held up his own hand and their rock, paper, scissors battle commenced. Three fist pumps, then they revealed their play. Dean played scissors. Sam played rock. Dean groaned as Sam grinned.

“Always with the scissors, Dean, you never learn. Crowley, I’d like to say it was a pleasure, but it really wasn’t.” Sam strode towards the door, yanked it open and left the panic room. Dean was glad that his brother was not going to witness his humiliation. He glanced at Cas.

“You should probably go too. I really don’t need you to see this.”

Cas glared at him. “I’m not leaving you alone with this… demon,” Cas said, clearly struggling not to use a more offensive term.

“Y’know, I was hoping for Moose, but I suppose you’ll do.” Crowley grinned at Dean triumphantly.

Dean shuddered a little to himself, and then stepped inside the circle. “I want to get a hold of the box, then we’ll kiss, then you’ll let go. I’ll scuff the trap and you’ll leave,” Dean instructed. Crowley nodded and held out the tin. Dean took hold of one side and Crowley tugged sharply, jerking Dean off balance. Crowley grabbed his hip and pressed his lips to Dean’s. Dean kept his mouth tightly shut, but allowed the kiss. Cas growled behind him. He counted to two, then broke the kiss, and broke the devils trap. Crowley winked at him, and then vanished.

As soon as Crowley was gone, Dean was faced with a very agitated angel, who seized him, picked him up and pushed him hard against the rough concrete wall. As Cas demanded entry into Dean’s mouth with his tongue, Dean wrapped his arms around his angels neck and pulled him in tighter, wrapping his legs around Cas’ hips.

“You’re mine,” Castiel growled against his lips. “That had better be the last time you kiss anyone else, for any reason.” Dean didn’t bother to respond, just mashed his lips against Cas’ again, rolling his hips slightly and making Cas moan into his mouth.

“Boy, I think we’ve got trouble.” Bobby’s shouted words made Dean stop kissing Cas instantly, pushing him away as he dropped his feet to the floor. Cas raised a finger to Dean’s forehead, and suddenly they were both standing beside Sam and Bobby who were peering out into the junk yard.

“Angels?” Cas said, in confusion. There were eight people standing in-between the piled-up cars in the junk yard, all looking innocuous at present, but if they were angels, Dean did not know what they were capable of.

Cas suddenly appeared in the sand between the cars and the porch, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.  Dean had not even realized Cas had gone and he cursed loudly before heading for the front door, grabbing Bobby's shotgun on the way.

"Brothers, Sisters, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" Castiel was saying calmly, as Dean joined him. Dean placed a hand on Castiel's shoulder, and Cas flashed him a tiny smile.

A blonde woman with her hair in a tight bun and dressed in a smart blue suit stepped forward. "We need the gunpowder, Castiel," the angel said. She was obviously the leader - all of the other angels were turned in her direction, watching, waiting for instruction.

"What the hell, we've only just got that ingredient, and we need it," Dean burst out. Cas gave him a reproachful look.

"Dean," he admonished. "I'm sure there has been a misunderstanding." He gave a sharp, assessing look to the angel in front of him.

"Naomi, the Winchesters are trying to restore Death. Gunpowder from the colt is one of the ingredients they require for the spell."

"Heaven requires the gunpowder, Castiel. That is all I can tell you in front of... Humans," the angel said, disdain dripping from her final word.

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say to Dean. He is the Righteous man after all."

The angel glared at Dean. "His stink is all over you, Castiel. I hope you are not letting him distract you from your true purpose."

Castiel bristled. "Naomi, I am following orders in remaining by his side. I do not see what my presence has to do with you and your…" Castiel sniffed disdainfully, "garrison. Now, tell me. What greater need can heaven have than the human need to restore Death?"

Dean cringed at the idea that Cas was only with him because of some order of heaven. He thought Cas was here because he wanted to be. Dean pushed the thought down. It was not the time for it. He could sense Cas' power begin to seep from his vessel as he tried to push for answers from angel-with-a-stick-up-her-ass.

Naomi sighed, but did not back down. "The balance of power is on a knife edge during this period of humanity. Heaven is seeing this incident with Death as an opportunity to withhold souls from hell, thus keeping them from garnering any more power."

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock. He barged past Castiel, towards Naomi, ignoring Cas calling his name. He stopped in front of her, and squared his shoulders. "Are you telling me that Heaven—that God—wants Death to remain trapped? To keep hundreds, possibly thousands, of people around the world in unspeakable agony, for eternity? Just to give you an upper hand in the pissing match you have going on with downstairs?"

Naomi gave him a look that could have curdled milk. "Don't be ridiculous. Nobody has heard from God directly in years. However, Michael ordains it, and so it will happen."

Cas laid a hand on Dean's shoulder this time, in a way that Dean was supposed to be calming. It really did not help.

"We have orders to take the gunpowder by force if necessary, Castiel." Both Castiel and Dean opened their mouths to retort, but a voice sounded behind them, and they both turned towards it.

"I'd like to see you get through the wards," Bobby drawled, leaning casually on the pillar at the edge of his porch. Sam stood beside him, arms crossed, a menacing expression on his face. The windows were now glistening with red symbols.

Naomi tilted her head as she looked, at the house, assessing. The action was so like Cas that it made Dean feel sick. "There are ways to break wards. Kill the maker, for example." Naomi's words were calm, but her actions were not. She threw both arms out violently in front of her and Bobby was lifted into the air, and thrown back against the wall of his house. Dean was sure that he would stop at the wall, but he did not. He went through it and out of sight, leaving a vaguely person-shaped hole with splintered pieces of wood on every side.

Dean started to run back towards the house. He only vaguely noticed Sam running in the opposite direction, and considered stopping him, but his brain couldn’t handle that much now. A litany of “no,” and “not Bobby,” was running through his head, leaving no room for anything else. Dean scrambled through the front door. Bobby was not in the hallway. The door to the kitchen was hanging open, held on now by just one lonely hinge. Dean ran through, pushing the broken door out of the way.

“No, Bobby, no, no,” Dean groaned as he sank to his knees beside the prone body. Bobby had clearly hit the kitchen table and rebounded, and he lay on his back in front of it, broken and limp like a rag doll. His neck was at an unnatural angle, and blood seeped from a large wound in his side, a spear of wood sticking up from it. Bobby was not moving, and Dean held his breath as he gently shook Bobby’s shoulder, hoping for a reaction. “Bobby,” Dean whispered. There was still no movement. Dean checked Bobby’s pulse. No movement, no reaction from underneath the other man’s skin. Dean’s heart sank into his stomach, a cold hard knot.

“You can’t do this to me, old man. Don’t leave us.” Dean’s heart started beating again as Bobby coughed.

“Less of the old, boy.” Bobby muttered. “And get this dang bit of wood out of me.”

“I don’t want to do more damage. You might bleed out.” Dean shook his head.

“I don’t think that will make a difference, son.” Bobby whispered, a crackle in his voice.

“What do you mean?” Dean was in denial. He knew what Bobby meant, had known it since he stumbled into the kitchen, but he refused to believe it.

“Damn it, Dean. You just checked my pulse. It hasn’t re-started. My heart isn’t beating. I’m dead. I just can’t go yet. Guess I done more good in my life then I thought, just not enough to get a fast pass to heaven.”

Dean’s face crumpled as the illusion that it was all okay was stripped away by Bobby’s words.

“No, Bobby. Please. This is all my fault. It was my suggestion to come here this morning. We should never have come.” He sank onto his knees, hands covering his face as tears began to fall. A hand landed on Dean’s knee. Bobby grunted with the effort.

“It’s not your fault, son. You can’t blame yourself for everything. Just, keep me comfortable for a few days, and make sure you break the spell so I can go in whichever direction I’m destined for.”

Dean grabbed the hand on his knee with both of his, holding on tight as if he could change what had happened by never letting go. “I’ll save you. I’ll do a deal with Death and make sure he brings you back.”

“Sometimes, people have to stay dead, son.” Bobby whispered. Dean shook his head violently.

“I’ll save you.” Dean repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler notes - Bobby dies, but we all know he'll be back. Right? RIGHT?!
> 
> Sorry everyone for this chapter. Please don't send hell hounds to my door. I felt that the boys needed a bit more inspiration to get this resolved... oops...


	12. Footprints in the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation with Bobby gets a bit too difficult for Dean to handle, so Cas decides that he needs a break.

Cas turned to face the angels, summoning his angel blade, while Dean ran back to the house. Cas did not know if Naomi had succeeded in killing Bobby Singer, but he knew he could not allow the angels inside. Castiel assessed the possibilities; hundreds of scenarios running through his mind in a fraction of a second – he was a warrior of heaven after all. With eight against one the odds were stacked against him, but he would do everything he could to protect Dean, as per his orders from heaven and for the love he felt in his heart.  
  
Cas was so focused on the fight ahead of them that it took him by surprise when Sam rushed past him, drawing his arm back and punching Naomi, square across the jaw. Naomi’s head snapped back, and Cas marveled at the human’s strength – it was amazing he had been able to move Naomi at all. Regardless, he had grown to like Sam, and he knew that Dean would not want his brother to be hurt.

“Sam, what are you doing? Get out of here,” Cas yelled. Sam’s act of defiance seemed to trigger action among angels – the other seven rushed forward, taking up a defensive position behind Naomi. She gave a grim smile, reached up and back handed Sam across the face, sending him flying across the yard. He crashed into a battered Prius a few yards away, his body falling to the ground in a heap.  
  
Cas strengthened the power within his vessel and released his wings from the dimension they were held in while he walked the earth. It was a show of power. He hoped it would be enough to deter the angels from approaching. The rustle of wings being exposed from the eight angels in front of him proved that his hope was in vain. Castiel backed slowly towards the house, but the others kept pace, creeping forward, certain they were gaining ground.  
  
Castiel slipped his hand down his angel blade, slicing open the palm of his vessel. He hoped that Naomi would not notice his movement. As he returned his blade to its sheath, Naomi gave a confused head tilt.

"Surrendering already, Castiel? Have you decided to follow your orders after all?" Naomi said, scathingly.  
  
"I am following **my** orders. I'm just not following yours," Castiel said as he reached the window. He traced a red finger over the symbol already drawn there, then slammed his hand, shining with blood, over the symbol he had spotted earlier. Bobby and Sam must have drawn it without realizing what it was, or not knowing that it needed to be in blood to activate. A bright white light flooded the junk yard, and a wind blew past Castiel, sending the angels away. His shoulders sunk with relief that he had not been carried away with them. He had made a modification to the symbol to protect its creator, but had not been entirely sure it would work.  
  
Sam staggered to his feet, rubbing the back of his head before stumbling towards Cas. "That's a neat trick. Will you teach it to me sometime?" Sam said.  
  
"Of course," Castiel said simply. "Let's go check on Dean and Bobby."  
  
The angel strode into the kitchen with Sam following close behind. Sam let out a deep groan as Bobby and Dean came into view. He pushed Cas aside as he rushed to kneel beside his surrogate father, opposite his brother. Cas surveyed the room, noting the splintered wood that rested on the floor beside Dean, sticky with blood. The wound in Bobby's side was starting to congeal, and Cas realized with a start that there were only two heartbeats in the room.  
  
"Oh, Bobby," Cas sighed, sadly.

Sam looked at him, concerned. "What… what is it, Cas?"

Cas shook his head, feeling that he should not be the one to break the news. Sam looked at Dean, but he was refusing to meet Sam's eyes. He looked at Bobby last, who met his gaze with a glare.

"What these idiots don't want to tell you is that I may have accidentally got myself killed."

Sam gasped again. "No... But..." Sam stammered out.  
  
"I'm going to save him," Dean said when he finally spoke. He looked at Sam and nodded, before looking at Cas, searching for reassurance. "I'm going to save him," Dean repeated. He gazed at Cas and his expression cleared, suddenly there was hope where there had been none. "Cas, can you heal him?"  
  
Cas stepped around Dean and crouched at Bobby's head.

Bobby looked up at him, expression guarded. "You shouldn't waste your powers on me, boy. You might need them later on."

"Hush" Cas said quietly, as he pressed his hand against Bobby's forehead. He tried to sink his awareness into the older hunter’s body, but it was as if he was wrapped in an impenetrable shroud. Cas could not force his grace through it to heal Bobby’s body. He could sense the man’s soul pulsing beneath it, waiting to be collected, but he could not do anything about it. Cas returned to himself, and shook his head at Dean, sorrow on his face. "I'm sorry, Dean. There seems to be some protection placed on him until Death can come for his soul."  
  
"A protection that does everything except stop him decomposing." Sam exclaimed angrily. Bobby placed a placating hand on Sam’s knee, then hesitated before he placed his other hand on Dean’s knee. Cas watched the brief hope that had flittered across Dean’s face faded away. It left a resigned expression behind, and Dean’s shoulders slumped as if he felt the weight of the world pressing down on him again.  
  
More than anything, Cas wished he could remove the burden of saving Bobby, but he could do no more than keep him comfortable. At least that was something he could do. With a thought, Cas moved them all upstairs to Bobby's bedroom, a more appropriate setting for what might be Bobby’s last days.  
  
Cas moved Bobby into the bed, underneath the old knitted quilt that had been made for him by his wife – Cas could see tiny spots of her soul knitted in along with the wool, an enduring testament to her love for her husband. With all the blood cleaned from Bobby's injuries, his side wrapped in clean white bandages, Cas replaced Bobby’s damaged clothes with a pair of clean but worn blue-striped pajamas. Bobby's signature cap remained in place. Even after only knowing Bobby for a short time, Cas knew it would be strange to see him without it.

Bobby realized what had happened with a start, before glaring at Castiel. "I can change my own damn clothes, boy."

Cas shrugged, a move he had apparently picked up from Dean.  
  
"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, looking relieved as he perched more comfortably on the side of Bobby's bed.

Dean opened and shut his mouth a few times before he shook his head violently. "I can't... I can't stay here for this," Dean choked out, before he bolted from the room.

Cas watched him go, feeling uncertain of the best course of action.  
  
"You should go after him, Cas." Bobby said, voice cracking slightly, “look after my boy. We’ll be fine here.”

Sam nodded, so Cas nodded in return before he disappeared from the room, he appeared next to Dean in the junk yard a moment later. Dean was holding a crowbar and about to take a swing at the bonnet of the silver Prius that Sam had been thrown against earlier. He paused as he saw Cas out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"You here to stop me?" He grunted out.  
  
"Not if you think it will, help," Cas replied calmly.  
  
Dean raised the metal bar up to its full height before swinging it down. There was a hard metallic thud as it connected with the car.  
  
"It will." Dean said, raising the bar and bringing it smashing down again. "I'm pretending it's Naomi's head."  
  
"Well, if that's what we're doing..." Castiel said, as he produced a second crow bar from nowhere, and swung it hard against the driver’s door, picturing Naomi's face. He was not quite sure of the benefits it would bring, but he thought he should try it. Cas was careful to temper his strength, aware that he could reduce the small car to dust in a few strikes if he chose to, and he sensed that was not the point of the exercise.  
  
Cas and Dean worked in tandem, striking the car over and over again. Sometimes their blows struck together in a cacophony of noise, and sometimes the timing was off. They met at the back of the car, smashing at the last intact panel together. Dean smashed the rear windscreen, and then suddenly dropped the crow bar, breathing hard, with sweat and tears rolling down his face. Cas immediately gathered Dean into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. Dean struggled at first, but Cas was immovable and Dean eventually gave in, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s back. The angel could feel as Dean's breathing slowed and returned to normal.  
  
"You are correct, Dean. I believe I do feel better after that display of violence against an unsuspecting vehicle. How about you?"  
  
Dean gave a slightly watery chuckle, his face pressed against Cas' shoulder. "Yeah, dude. I'm feeling a little bit better. Don't think I can face going back in there though."  
  
Cas nodded. "Perhaps you don't need to. I have an idea. Shut your eyes." Dean immediately looked up at him, suspicion written across his face. Cas just looked down at him implacably until Dean finally muttered, "fine," and shut his eyes. Cas spread his wings and prepared to teleport them away.

***

Dean kept his eyes closed as he heard the flutter of wings and felt the whirling sensation in his stomach he was gradually coming to associate with angel airways. It was only when he heard the lapping of waves against the sand that he opened his eyes and looked around them. He was stunned. He pulled away from Cas to see their surroundings better. "Cas, where are we?"  
  
They were standing on a beach with the most perfect white sand Dean had ever seen – though since Dean had never been to the beach before, that wasn’t saying much, but it beat anything he had ever even seen on TV. Aqua blue water caressed the shore line, and Dean could see fish and coral just a few meters out. Behind him there was a sheer rock face he was sure no human could ever climb, and it continued for miles in both direction. Dean looked around in amazement, but all he could see was miles of blue sea, white sand, sheer rock, and not a human, creature or angel in sight, apart from the angel in the trench coat standing beside him, who was smiling sheepishly.

"I thought we could complete a number of tasks simultaneously."  
  
"Kill two birds with one stone, yeah?" Dean smiled.  
  
"There are no birds here, Dean. And no stones for that matter," Cas dead panned. Dean was not sure whether to take him seriously or not, so he just rolled his eyes and motioned for Cas to continue.  
  
"You needed an escape, but we are on a time limit. So, we’ve come to collect a shell from this beach. It’s an ingredient in the spell that we need in order to enable you to save the world, and save your friend."  
  
"Er, Cas, wasn't the ingredient supposed to be a shell from a beach never walked upon by a human being?" Cas ducked his head, and Dean thought that if he wasn't an angel, he would be blushing.  
  
"A shell from the beach where only the righteous man has walked seemed like it would still be a powerful ingredient. I often come here if I need to connect with nature, and thought you would like to see it," Cas muttered, clearly embarrassed as he looked down at the sand and refused to meet Dean's eyes.  
  
Dean covered the space between them in an instant to press up against his angel, kissing him hard. "That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me," Dean stuttered out between kisses, until he broke away, leaving them both panting.  
  
"It's getting a bit hot around here. We have time for a swim, right?" Dean said. A flash of guilt flew through him as he thought about Bobby, lying in his bed, waiting for Dean.

Cas placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We can spend as much time here as you wish. I will return us to Bobby’s the moment after we left. It will be as if no time has passed." He leant over to kiss Dean, then began to pull Dean's over shirt off, before slipping his t-shirt up over his head. Cas dumped both on the sand, as he looked at Dean expectantly. Dean felt as though a weight had been lifted, he turned and he ran towards the ocean, whooping. He stopped only to pull his shoes and socks off, followed by his pants, leaving them strewn carelessly in the sand. It wasn't as if anyone was going to be along to steal them, Dean thought to himself. As he stopped to unbutton his jeans, he turned to look back at Cas.  
  
"Aren't you coming?" Dean called. His angel was staring at Dean’s bare chest, mouth slightly ajar. At Dean's call, Cas pushed the trench coat from his shoulders, allowed it to puddle on the sand and began to walk towards the sea. He set a much slower pace than Dean had, but shed his clothes as he went, conveniently leaving clothes in the same place as Dean had, scattered like punctuation in sand, telling the world they had been there together. Dean watched, backing slowly towards the ocean until he stood at the very edge clad in only his boxers, and waited for Cas to join him. Dean turned and kissed Cas lightly on the lips, before he pushed his own boxers down and yelled, "Last one in tells Sam we went to the beach without him!" Dean ran into the waves, splashing as much as he could, yelling wildly.  
  
He did not get far before Cas tackled him to the sea floor. The water was not deep enough for them to be fully submerged, but Dean coughed as salt water sloshed into his open mouth. He should have landed hard, but Cas wrapped his arms around him and gave him a soft landing. So this is the sea - Dean thought to himself - it’s saltier than I expected. That was the last thought he had before there was a naked angel on top of him, crushing their mouths together. Their bond ignited as Cas grabbed the top of Dean’s arm, and Dean suddenly heard a beautiful, haunting melody, all around them. He moved away from Cas, stunned. “What on earth is that noise, Cas?” Dean asked.  
  
Cas smiled at him, love shining from his eyes, even more blue than usual with the light reflected from the waves. “It’s the ocean, Dean. She has her own song that all angels can hear. Most humans never have the opportunity. Isn’t it beautiful?”  
  
It was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever heard, except for the noises from Cas’ mouth at the height of passion. But he could not resist the opportunity to tease Cas. “Well, it’s no Metallica,” he smirked.

Cas gave him the look that Dean was beginning to name ‘the death glare’, before he leant down and licked Dean’s neck from collar bone to just underneath his ear. Dean wanted to be grossed out, but the twitch of interest in his groin told him it was not disgust he was feeling. Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean, who shrugged minutely, and looked away, hoping Cas might get the idea and do it again.  
  
Dean’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt Cas’ mouth suck just below his ear. Cas had moved his hand away from the handprint, which Dean was grateful for since the sensation quickly became overwhelming. He missed the song of the ocean, but enjoyed the waves lapping against his skin as Cas nibbled lightly on his neck. Dean was sure that he was leaving marks that would be visible later, but couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
Dean’s dick was totally with the party by now and he thrust his hips up towards Cas, satisfied to feel that the angel was in the same state. Cas moaned against his neck, making Dean repeat the action. Cas pushed his own hips forward, sliding their dicks together and causing Dean to throw his head into the cool water, adding another layer of sensation. They rocked together, alternating thrusts, and Dean could feel heat begin to pool low in his stomach as the friction and heat of Cas, immediately cooled by the lapping water, began to be too much. The groans coming from Cas and the way he was biting his lip told Dean that Cas was close as well, so Dean reached one hand between them and wrapped it around their cocks, stroking them to a simultaneous completion.  
  
Afterwards, they stretched out on the sand facing each other, each with a hand resting on the others hip in a post-orgasmic haze. Dean felt that if he did not have a physical connection with Cas, this would all slip away and he would wake up, probably back in hell. Cas grounded him, kept him there, kept him out of hell. Dean shuffled forward, coating even more of his damp body in the perfect white sand. He didn’t care. He slotted his body into Cas’, placed one leg between the angel’s two, wrapped an arm around his waist, and kissed him softly. Cas tightened his legs, squeezing Dean’s gently as he wrapped an arm around Dean in return.  
  
Dean leant his head against Cas’ chest, sighing, content. “Can we come back here, after it’s all over?”  
  
“Of course, Dean,” Cas murmured, as he kissed the top of Dean’s head.  
  
“If I’m still alive, of course,” Dean said, regretting it at once when Cas stiffened beneath him.  
  
“I would not let anything happen to you. I would move heaven and earth to keep you safe.”  
  
Dean chose not to respond to Cas’ words. He knew that sometimes these things are out of anyone’s control, even an angel of the lord. “You know, someone said once that love is the only thing you can take with you when you die,” he said. “Do you think that’s true?”  
  
Dean felt Cas tilt his head, and he lifted his own head to watch Cas’ expression.

The angel stared at Dean, sadness and a little anger radiating from him. “I know that many couples are reunited in heaven, so perhaps that is true. I hope that it will be a long time before we have to find out.”  
  
“I doubt I’ll be going to heaven when I go. I’m sure it will be straight back into the pit for me.”

Cas’ arms tightened around him. “I highly doubt that. You are the righteous man. You don’t truly belong in hell.” Cas paused, but chose to ignore Dean shaking his head in disbelief. “When you do die, I will find you in heaven, and I will be beside you for all of eternity if you will let me. So for you at least, love will definitely last after death. I do love you, Dean.”  
  
Dean shifted uncomfortably. Even though he had started the conversation, it was all getting a bit heavy for him. “I know,” he eventually responded. He knew Cas would not get the reference, but it was all that he could manage in that moment. He watched Cas carefully, waiting for the flash of disappointment he had seen on a few women’s faces when they had told him that they loved him and he could not say it back. Cas’ face remained peaceful however, a small smile hovering around his lips. Dean’s eyes flickered closed, and he soon began to doze, safe in the arms of his angel, on a beach that no other human had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who are still reading this, and thanks especially to Linoresearch & Acehardy for betaing and cheer leading :D
> 
> I'm spn_sea_green on twitter & seagreen27 on tumblr if you fancy following me :)


	13. A Glint in the Eye of the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles with his anger issues, driving Cas away, but it leads to an unexpected find.

They found Sam at the table nursing a beer when they got back. Dean felt all of the calm and happiness from the beach drain out of him at the sight,leaving nothing but angry fluttering bats in his stomach.  
  
“Why aren’t you with Bobby, Sam?” Dean demanded. “Is he ok?” He eyed the stairs, debating whether to wait for Sam’s answer or storm up there himself.  
  
“Bobby’s the same. He sent me away, said he didn’t need a death vigil yet and he was sick of looking at my hair.” The side of Sam’s mouth quirked upwards, trying to smile but not quite managing it. “Where did you two go?”  
  
Dean looked guiltily at Castiel, standing calmly at his side. “We retrieved the next ingredient,” Castiel said, as he produced a large, conch shell from his coat pocket. It shimmered with blues and pinks in the dim light, like a captured sunset.  
  
Sam looked as though he had dozens of questions, opening and shutting his mouth as he decided which one to ask. “So does that leave just two ingredients to source?” he said. It was clear from his expression that it was not the question he really wanted to ask, but it was the one he needed an answer to the most.   
  
“Yes, the recipe for taste, and tigers eye for sight remain.” Cas nodded while Dean retrieved a beer from the fridge.  
  
“We’re close,” Sam said.  
  
“But not close enough.” Dean slammed the door of the fridge in frustration, all of his anger and frustration flooding back in. He stomped over and sat down opposite Sam with a huff. He pushed a seat out for Cas without really thinking about it, and the angel joined them at the table.   
  
“We can sort out the recipe, but we’ve got no clue about the tigers eye. And we don’t know who can cast the spell…” Dean trailed off and took a long swig of beer. Sam shifted in his seat, guilt written across his face. Dean narrowed his eyes. “What, Sam?” he demanded.  
  
“I’ve tried out a couple of spells over the last few days. I know they shouldn’t have worked, but they did. I should be able to cast the spell.”  
  
“What spells did you use?” Cas asked, mildly, as if that was the most important question right now.  
  
Dean slammed his bottle down on the table before Sam could answer. “No Sam. No way, no how. We don’t know what will happen to whoever casts the spell. It might destroy you. I’m not going to let you do it.”  
  
“Hold on a second, Dean,” Sam said, “we should talk about this.”  
  
“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam. I can’t take you getting hurt as well as Bobby. It’s bad enough that he got hurt - got killed - because of choices that I made. I’m not going to have that happen to you.” Dean pushed back from the table and balled his fists at his side.   
  
Cas was there in an instant, placing a calming hand on his shoulder, but Dean shook it off. He was angry; he wanted something, anything to take his anger out on, and Sam and Cas were there. A part of Dean knew they weren't the ones he was really angry with, but in that moment he did not care.  
  
"I can't believe after everything that we've been through, you want to sacrifice yourself again, Sam. You didn't even want to come back to the hunting life, and now you want to throw away any chance you have of a normal life?" Sam did not reply, he just looked at Dean with his stupid traitor mouth hanging open.   
  
"Dean, you’re being unfair," Castiel admonished.   
  
Dean whirled to face him. "You can't talk to me about being unfair. It's not that long ago that you were burning people's eyes out just for trying to contact you." Cas' face twisted in regret, and Dean almost stopped. He wanted to hug him, tell him he did not mean it, but he stubbornly bit his tongue.  
  
"In the short time I've known you, you've changed me from the avenging angel dick you once thought I was." Dean froze, as Cas gave him a small encouraging smile for Dean to share his joke.   
  
"That's what I called you to Sammy, once. You weren't there. How do you know that's what I called you?"   
  
Cas' eyes widened, and a guilty look flashed across his face. He looked down at his feet, and addressed them, refusing to meet Dean's angry gaze. "I was there, Dean. Before you knew who I was and accepted my help, I travelled with you, within the charm that you carry around your neck."   
  
Dean's hand flew to the pendant Sam had given him so long ago. "You were spying on me?" Dean shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam slink away, leaving them to argue.   
  
"I wasn't spying, Dean. I knew that you wouldn't accept me accompanying you until you trusted me, but I had orders from heaven to keep you safe."  
  
"Oh yeah, orders from heaven, because we all know that Cas is a good little soldier who’ll follow orders. Is that all this is, Cas? You're just following orders? Do you sleep with everyone that heaven orders you to? Or is it just those you've pulled out of hell? How many have there been?" Dean suddenly found himself pushed bodily against the wall, feet dangling, an angry angel gripping his shirt and holding him there effortlessly. The thought that if he wasn't so pissed he'd be seriously turned on right now, flashed through his mind but was immediately replaced by pure anger.  
  
"I have protected you, Dean. It started out as following orders, but it is so much more than that now. I faced down a whole garrison of heaven for you, kept them from you and your loved ones. I did not have to spend all this time with you, I could have continued to protect you from afar, but I did not. We have a connection that I could not resist, and if heaven were to call me back tomorrow, I'm not sure if I would go."   
  
A flash of fear passed across Cas' face as he realized what he had just said, that he had admitted he would rebel for Dean if they tried to order him away. Dean was still angry though, and getting angrier with himself for wasting time when they should be out there solving this.   
  
Which is why the next thing out of his mouth was the stupidest thing he had ever said. "Maybe you should go now then. Before you have to make a choice we both know I won't win."   
  
Cas looked at him in disbelief. "What did you say?" he whispered, sounding broken.  
  
"I said you should leave, now. I don't want you here anymore. I don't like people who spy on me." Dean knew he sounded childish, waited for Cas to rebuke him, tell him he was being stupid. Instead, he landed in a heap on the floor as the angel vanished. 

  
  
***

  
Cas appeared underneath the familiar boughs of his oak tree with a heavy heart. He had known that it was a risk when he began to accompany Dean without making his presence known, but he had done it with the best of intentions. He had not expected that Dean would react this badly. Cas sat at the base of the tree and wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them towards him. He leant his head back against the bark and felt the connection with the tree, felt the green life pulsing behind him. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, the scent of petrichor making him feel clean, whilst the low evening sun dappling on him from above made him warm. With a thought, he was suddenly perched on the top most branch of the tree, next to the trunk and above the leaves, to feel closer to the sun.  
  
Cas wrapped his arms around the trunk, marveling at the fact that he could not reach all the way around it. It felt like only the blink of an eye since it had been a sapling, unable to take his weight. He tried use the thought to give context to his argument with Dean; it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But it did not feel insignificant. Cas had shut himself away from all prayers, ignoring the urge to find out if Dean was calling for him. He was not ready, unsure if it would hurt more to find out Dean was praying to him, or if he was not.  
  
Cas tried to distract himself by focusing his grace on the tree, feeding his grace from his vessel into the ancient oak until he was in every branch, root and leaf. The sun was even more warming in this form, accompanied by the photosynthesis process of converting it into energy. Trees only needed themselves, the sun and the earth. They had no need for other trees.   
  
Cas was passing his consciousness through different parts of the tree, like firing neurons, when he felt it, something slimy and dark coming from a hollow in the trunk about halfway up - the result of a persistent woodpecker. Demon, Cas realized. A demon has been here and tried to hide something. Cas returned to his vessel and perched on the closest branch, leaning over and tracing fingertips over the hole that was now hidden behind a dark shroud. A black substance coated his fingers, and Cas grimaced in disgust. A quick blast of grace burnt it from his skin, but it did not remove the barrier from the tree.  
  
Cas produced his angel blade and brought it down over the hole with all the strength of his frustration, stored up from his argument with Dean. The demon shield shattered. It fell away as if it had been made of glass. Cas could sense the tree’s relief at having the demon taint removed. Cas allowed his grace to flow into the hole, checking for further traps, but he could not sense any. Satisfied that it was safe he put his hand inside and pulled out a single item.  
  
Cas stared at it for a long moment. He did not believe what he was seeing. He sent a long prayer of thanks to the Father that most angels seemed to think had abandoned them. For Cas this proved God was still watching over them.  
  
He closed his hand around the beautiful piece of tiger’s eye and prepared to travel back to Bobby's scrap yard.

  
***

Dean slumped to the floor in despair as Castiel disappeared, all the anger he had been holding suddenly draining away. He knew why he was angry, but lost track of why he was directing it at Sam and Cas. "I'm sorry,” Dean called out, hoping Cas was still close by. “I didn't mean any of it." He looked around hopefully at the sound of footsteps by the door, and tried not to be disappointed when Sam reappeared instead.  
  
"What did you do?" Sam said.  
  
There was a lump in Dean’s throat. He wanted to scream that he had ruined everything. He wanted to go outside and find another car to smash to pieces; except it would be different now, he thought, last time he had moved from anger to amusement with Cas alongside him. He pushed the regret down, tried to smother it out of existence, as he always did.   
  
"I told Cas to go." Dean had known Cas would leave him eventually, that he would be called back to heaven. But Dean had hoped it would not be until after this latest round of hell was over. Dean never expected to be the one to send Cas away.  
  
"Why?" Sam asked, gently. His quiet acceptance was worse than if he had started yelling.   
  
“He spied on us, Sam. He was sneaking around, and listening to our conversations.”  
  
“So? He was watching over us. Deanna even told us that he was. That’s what angels do, Dean. How many centuries or millennia do you think it’s been since an angel made contact with a human? You expected that he would change his nature overnight?”  
  
Dean shuffled his feet, unable meeting Sam’s glare. “No. Of course not. I was just so angry, Sam. This whole situation, Bobby, you, it sucks. Why is it always us?”  
  
“So instead of being angry at the witch who started this whole thing, you decided to be angry at the people who fight by your side, and push away those who love you the most.” Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders. Dean slumped against him.  
  
“Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered.  
  
“Are you going to call him back?”   
  
“I tried but he didn’t answer,” Dean said, his voice muffled by Sam’s shirt.  
  
“Maybe you should try praying to him.”   
  
Dean sighed. “You’re probably right. Get your big moose paws off me then.” Dean shoved Sam away, sending him a smirk. Sam glared in return (bitch face number 36 - if you call me Moose, one more time…).  
  
“Moose don’t have paws, Dean. They have hooves.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, get out of here. Apparently I’ve got some praying to do.” Sam scowled as he left the room, nearly walking into the wall because of his refusal to take his eyes from Dean. Dean sniggered.  
  
Sitting at the table, he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forwards, resting his forehead on his knuckles. He shut his eyes. “Cas, I’m sorry. Please come back to me.” He cracked open one eye and squinted around the room, but no angel appeared. “Look, Cas, I’m sorry I was a douchnozzle. Please come home. I didn’t want you to go in the first place, not really.” Still nothing happened.   
“Cas, if you come back now we can have a heart-to-heart and I promise I will at least try and talk about my feelings. We can pretend we’re in a chick flick movie or something.” Dean paused for a few seconds, listening before he tried again. “Ok, maybe you don’t want to talk about your feelings. If you come back now, I promise you the most mind-blowing sex ever.”  
  
For the next half an hour Dean continued apologizing, bargaining, and pleading. He drew the line at begging though. Dean did not beg (even if it sounded a lot like he was). Eventually he dropped his hands to the table, and stood up with a huff, muttering about God damn angels that could not take an apology or come home for an apology blow job already. Dean turned around to find Sam standing in the doorway looking like he was going to need years of therapy.  
  
Sam coughed, flushing a little. “He’s not answering you then.”  
  
Dean walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer. “Nope,” he said, on his way to slumping on the sofa.  
  
“I’m sure he’ll come back when he’s ready.” Dean hummed non-committedly and flicked on the TV, trying to mask his worry that Cas might not come back at all, that he might have screwed up the best thing that ever happened to him. Even worse, what if Cas was in danger? What if he was in trouble, and that’s why he was not answering. Just as Dean was starting to drive himself crazy with various scenarios of Cas in peril, there was a flutter of wings in the kitchen.   
  
Whatever Sam said later on, Dean walked to the kitchen at a sedate pace, and did in no way throw himself off the sofa or run to the kitchen.  
  
Cas stood against the wall looking aloof and cold. Dean registered his expression, but could not stop from hurling himself at the angel, grabbing him around the back of his neck, and kissing him soundly. Cas’ icy demeanor melted under the attention, and he wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist to pull him in.   
  
“I’m sorry, Cas. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, just please never leave again.” Dean said each word in between kisses.   
  
Cas pulled back to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “You were an assbutt, and you will make it up to me.”   
  
Dean leant away so he could quirk an eyebrow at his angel. “Assbutt?” he said with a laugh. “What sort of an insult is assbutt?”   
  
“Maybe it works better in enochian,” Cas said with a small shrug. “That is not the point. I found it, Dean.” Cas produced a large piece of Tiger’s Eye from his pocket. Like the rose quartz, it seemed to have an internal glow burning in the center.   
  
Sam gasped, “Where did you find it?”  
  
“I was visiting an old friend,” he said. “The stone had been covered by some kind of demon protection, but I was able to break it.”   
  
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Dean interrupted him. “What friend?” He felt a flash of jealousy.   
  
Cas smiled faintly. “An old friend; she’s very tall and has been around for a few hundred years.” Dean frowned at him, until Cas continued. “Her bark is worse than her bite, but we get on fairly well. She lets me sit on her and keep her company.” Dean felt horrified that he had driven Cas away from him and into someone else's arms. It must have shown in his face, because Cas chuckled and finally added, “She’s a tree, Dean. An oak tree to be exact.”  
  
Dean glared at Cas as Sam guffawed. Cas wrapped his arm around Dean and pulled him into a tight hug. "I will do the best of my ability to stay with you for as long as you will have me. So please don't send me away again unless you truly mean it," Cas said.   
  
Dean nodded over Cas' shoulder, before pulling away. "So, just one ingredient left, huh? I have an idea for the last one."  



	14. The Apple Pie Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas & Dean bake pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my long-suffering beta Linoresearch, who inspired this chapter as well as beta'd it. Surely everyone must have read the awesome Pies and Prejudice fic?! No?! Well, what are you waiting for?!
> 
> Thanks also to Acehardy03 who introduced me to that fic in the first place!
> 
> Now on to some gratuitous baking fluff. There's some story if you squint, but it's mainly fluff!!

Dean couldn't believe his luck. "A spell that includes pie as an ingredient,” he said as he and Cas climbed into the impala. “How awesome is that? It's almost like it was made for me."

"If my understanding from Deanna’s book of shadows is correct, the spell basically **was** written for you," Cas said with a smirk. Dean waved a hand at him in dismissal before turning up Back in Black on the stereo. He sang along the whole way to Walmart, much to Cas' amusement. They needed to stop at the store for pie ingredients before they reached their final destination, which Dean was currently keeping a surprise.

Dean hooked a basket over one arm as they arrived. He walked through the aisles so close to Cas that he kept bumping his arm. It was nice to be spending time with Cas. It felt domestic, almost normal to be wandering through a store together, picking out pie ingredients rather than spell ingredients. Dean let himself fantasize that he and Cas were picking up what they needed for a weekend dinner at their house. Sammy and his wife coming round, retired from hunting, or perhaps never hunters in the first place. Dean would cook, Cas would be a distraction as much as a help, and they would all eat at the kitchen table, and then sit together afterwards for a few beers and a movie. Nothing special, nothing exciting, just not having to worry about an impending apocalypse, or saving people from monsters. A place of their own, with a proper kitchen, and a garden that Cas would look after.  
  
“Maybe one day we’ll have a place of our own and we can do this more often,” Cas spoke softly into his ear, making Dean jump and look at him quizzically.  
  
“Are you sure you can’t read my mind?”  
  
“When you’ve been staring at the same bushel of apples for five minutes, it’s not difficult to guess where your mind might be.” Cas smiled at Dean, who bent his head and gave him a quick, chaste, kiss, before finally making a decision and putting the apples into the basket.  
  
Later, as they pulled up outside of the white-painted house with the red front door, Cas huffed in recognition. Dean looked at him with a smirk.  
  
“Yes, ok Dean, you’re very clever,” Cas frowned playfully.  
  
“Oh come on, using my Grandmother’s kitchen to make my Mother’s apple pie recipe? If that doesn’t add to the power of the spell, I don’t know what will. That’s not just clever, that’s genius!” Dean grinned, pleased. Cas smiled back, blue eyes warm as he put his hand on Dean’s arm. The next thing Dean knew, they were in the middle of the kitchen with shopping bags at their feet.  
  
“Wow, shopping’s much easier with an angel in tow,” Dean commented, as he unpacked the bags onto the counter. There were a surprising number of bags for just one pie, as they’d had to buy baking tools as well as the ingredients. That was the downside of baking in an empty house. Dean had winced at the cost of it, but pulled out one of the many credit cards without his real name on the front, glad it wasn't his money he was spending.

Cas lent back onto the counter next to him, and Dean was caught again by the homeliness of the moment. He stepped between his angel’s legs and wrapped his arms around his waist. Cas leant in to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“This isn’t very productive,” Cas murmured, the sound coming out slightly muffled.  
  
“I know,” Dean sighed, and moved away with a downcast expression; although he began to smile again as he looked at all the ingredients spread out across the top.  
  
“You know, we don’t want your coat to get all messy. You should probably take it off, and your jacket,” Dean said, taking off his own jacket and over-shirt, and motioning towards Cas. The angel added his clothes to the small pile that Dean had already had left on the floor, over the secret place where Deanna’s book of shadows and the jewelry box had been. Dean whistled as Cas began to roll up his sleeves. He had only seen the angel fully clothed or completely naked so far. This felt like some kind of in between stage, and it was very distracting.

“If I peel the apples, will you chop them?” Dean asked, tentatively handing Cas a knife. He felt slightly worried about his angel’s cooking skills, pretty sure they didn't have much time for baking in heaven.

“I’m sure I can manage Dean. I’ve been wielding a blade for a couple of millennia after all.” Cas looked offended at the fact that Dean was concerned about him chopping some apples. Dean just chuckled and picked up the new peeler.

They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Dean started weighing out the ingredients for the pastry. When Cas had finished chopping, he picked up the bowl with the apple pieces and turned to move out of the way. As he did, he accidentally knocked the bowl of flour from the top of the scales. Dean watched as the bowl seemed to fall in slow motion, the flour leaping out and covering him from his hair to his belt.

Cas froze, looking horrified. “Dean, I’m so sor…”

Dean glared at him, causing Cas’ words to hitch in his throat, clearly worried that he was really upset. Dean reached out slowly and gathered a handful of flour from the pile that had congregated on the surface. He hurled it at Cas, grinning wildly. Cas looked down at his shirt and blue tie, now covered in dashes of flour. He looked back up with a serious expression. Power seemed to swell around Cas as if he was about to bring down the wrath of heaven, giving Dean flashbacks to when they first met. Dean began to wonder how smart it was to tease a celestial being, as he began to back away slowly, holding his hands before him in a pacifying motion.

"Cas..."

“This means war,” Castiel growled, as he stalked forward and gathered more flour in his hands than seemed possible. At once he began to pelt Dean with it, flinging it as Dean turned and stumbled away, sniggering. When Dean reached the other side of the counter he grabbed the bag of flour and began slinging it back. The kitchen became a haze, a white-out of flour and laughter. Cas clearly decided there was only one way to finish what Dean had started; he used his grace as extra hands until Dean felt like he was being pelted with flour-balls from all directions. He ended up curled on the floor, gasping and laughing, as the flurry continued all around.  
  
“Uncle, Cas, Uncle! No more!” Dean gasped out, legs folded up to his chest and arms around his head, trying to make himself as small a target as possible.

Suddenly, he was on his back, and Cas was knelt over him, legs on either side of his hips. The flour that had coated the kitchen and both men was gone.  
  
“Do I win then?” Cas whispered his face an inch away from Dean’s. He shivered, and felt a stir of interest from underneath where the Angel was sitting.  
  
“Yeah Cas, you win. You’re the best Angel at flour wars.” Dean adjusted his legs slightly and wrapped his arms around the man sitting on top of him. He lurched, taking both of their weights and rolling over until they reversed their positions. He leaned back down, hovering his lips just over Cas’ mouth.  
  
“I think I win the Angel/Human wrestling though.” He closed the final inch, and brought his lips to Cas’. His angel responded, keeping the kiss slow and sweet. Dean soon realized that Cas’ mouth was curved up in a smile, and his sides were moving as he giggled underneath him. This set Dean off again, finding it hilarious that he was claiming to have won a wrestling match with someone that he could only move if they allowed him to. The kiss was interrupted as they laughed together. Dean rolled off and lay beside Cas, back pressed against the hard floor. Not wanting to lose contact completely, he grasped Cas’ hand, and they lay side by side, letting their laughter subsided into giggles, and then into comfortable silence.  
  
“I guess I’ll have to go back to the store and get some more flour,” Dean commented, breaking the silence and rolling onto his side to get a good look at Cas.  
  
“There is no need. When I cleaned up, I returned all of the errant flour back to its original bag.” Cas rolled over to face Dean.

Dean threw his arm over Cas’ side, and then wriggled slightly. “I'm not sure that's hygienic, but ok. You know, it’s not that comfortable down here, and I suppose we should get back to that pie,” Dean said. Castiel nodded getting slowly to his feet before helping Dean up. Dean weighed out the flour again, and this time Castiel stayed put to avoid more mishaps. Dean resisted the temptation of restarting the flour war in favor of weighing out the other ingredients.  
  
Once the pie was in the oven, Dean turned to find Cas looking at the counter with a confused expression. “There seem to be a lot of wasted ingredients Dean.”  
  
Dean grinned and pulled a second pie tin out of the shopping bag. “I thought you might want to try some of my Mom’s legendary pie, so I made enough for two!” Dean looked very pleased with himself, and Cas smiled indulgently.

Dean put the second pie together and added it to the oven. “Hmmm, the first pie has still got about twenty minutes left, what shall we do with that time” Dean pondered, waggling his eyebrows at Cas suggestively. “Any ideas?” Cas nodded eagerly, and suddenly appeared next to Dean, human movement apparently not quick enough for him. Dean pulled his angel into this chest and wrapped his arms around him.

***

Twenty five minutes later, Dean broke apart from Cas with a start. “The pies!” Dean exclaimed, rushing to the oven, grabbing the oven mitts on the way. He pulled the first pie out, and Cas was relieved to see it looking golden and perfect, and not burnt from the extra baking time. Dean put it carefully on the side to cool. Rummaging in the now much emptier shopping bags, he pulled out two spoons and turned to Cas triumphantly.

“Who needs bowls when you can eat pie the way it should be eaten – straight from the dish!” Cas took the spoon Dean was offering and quickly dug out a chunk of pie, shoving it into his mouth, eager to taste Dean’s favorite food.

“Careful, Cas. That will be really…” Dean broke off as Cas shut his eyes and moaned with pleasure, the taste of fall exploding across his tongue. Caramelized apples, cinnamon and buttery pastry, all mingled together to create a sensation he had never felt with food before. It evoked the memory of golden leaves falling from his oak tree, leaving the branches bare, and small children and their parents kicking through the piles of leaves that had congregated beneath his trunk. When he swallowed, he opened his eyes again ready to get another bite, only to find Dean right in front of him.

Dean kissed him ferociously, pulling their hips together. Castiel responded in kind. The delicious pie and fall memory momentarily forgotten. Cas decided that the only thing better than eating apple pie, was tasting the flavors from Dean’s mouth.

*******

Much later, Dean and Cas returned to the motel to meet Sam. Both carried pies, one still perfect from the oven, the other half demolished by their determined spoons. Dean knocked on the door and after a few moments of stomping and rustling, Sam opened it and peered out at them, looking like a ruffled owl.

“Sammy! I brought you pie! Well it's more like half a pie now, but still... Pie!” Dean crowed, shoving the half-eaten pie towards his rumpled brother.

“Dean, it’s half past two in the morning. Why would I want pie at half past two in the morning? Particularly pie that you two have already had your sticky fingers all over?” Sam gave Dean bitch face #46 (why the hell have you got me out of bed at this ridiculous time), and went to shut the door in his face.

Dean pouted, pulled a spoon out of his pocket, and blocked the door with his foot. “I guess we lost track of time. But here, you’ve got to try it – it really is magic pie!” With that, Dean scooped up some pie and shoved it in the direction of Sam’s mouth, determined that Sam eat it or get it up his nose. He knew his brother would eventually make the right choice. Sure enough, Sam grabbed the spoon and ate the mouthful.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled around the apple. “That is some good pie”.

“Right?” Dean smirked at him. Sam lent out, snatched the pie dish, and then grabbed a set of keys and threw them towards Cas, who caught them easily.

“I got you two another room. Now go away and leave me alone so I can go back to bed. And don’t expect any pie left in the morning.”

“As long as you’re going to eat it and not American Pie it, that’s fine.” Dean snickered and raised his eyebrows at Cas, who just looked at him confused. The only answer Dean got was the slamming of the motel room door. Dean turned away and threw an arm around Cas’ shoulders.

“Come on then angel, bedtime.”

“Is that bed-time, or sleep-time?” Cas asked, feigning an innocent expression.

Dean chuckled down at him. “If I’d meant sleep time, I would have said sleep time.” Dean bent his head and kissed Cas passionately as they carried on towards the privacy of their motel room.   



	15. Yer a Wizard, Sammy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the ingredients have been gathered, leaving just the spell to be cast. There's a danger they might be able to free Death without anybody getting hurt for a change. But as Dean will learn, all magic comes with a price.

They congregated in Sam’s motel room the following morning. They peered at each other, bleary eyed after the late night, but alert and ready for the day ahead. Sam placed the jewelry box on the table and took the tiger’s eye and rose quartz out of it. Cas placed the whole apple pie on the table, and then dug the tin of gunpowder from one pocket and the conch shell from another. They both turned and looked at Dean, who stared back for a moment before realizing what they wanted. He unclasped his mother’s charm bracelet from around his wrist, and reluctantly placed it on the table next to the box.

“It doesn’t look like enough,” Dean commented, poking at the small pile of objects on the table.

“It’s all of the ingredients listed in the book,” Sam said. “Now we’ve just got to set the circle and follow the spell. Oh, and there’s a few more things I had to buy.” He walked over to his bed and picked up a paper bag. It was bright purple with a black pentagram printed onto it. He bought it back to the table and pulled out a wrought iron cauldron, about the size of a mixing bowl.

“Where’d you get that, Sam? Diagon Alley?” Dean mocked, smirking at Cas to get him in on the joke, but he just stared back looking confused. Dean shrugged as Sam elbowed him in the side. “You got a wand in there as well?”

Sam glared at him. “We needed something to burn the ingredients in. The iron is supposed to contain the magic so it doesn’t spread and affect the caster… me.”

“About that,” Dean said. “How’d you work out you could cast the spell? I thought Deanna said men can’t do magic.”

“I was reading through the book, and muttered a couple of the spells out loud, and a couple of lightbulbs burst. So I tried some of the household stuff, cleaning clothes, that kind of thing, and they worked. I don’t know why.”

Dean thought back to Sam’s telekinetic powers and demon hunting abilities because of what Azazel had done to him when he was a baby, but thought that it was not the best time to bring it up.

“Does Deanna’s book say if there are any side effects for the caster?” Dean said.

“No, it doesn’t. But white magic overall seems to have less of an effect on the caster then black magic.”

“All magic comes at a price,” Dean muttered. He was sure he’d heard that somewhere.

“If there is a price, I’ll happily pay it. All of those souls, trapped. It’s not right, if I can do something about it…”  
  
“I know, Sammy. I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Dean said.

“Well, whatever happens you’ll bring me back, right? I’m sure Cas will help.” Dean looked at Cas, who nodded.

“Of course,” Cas said.

They talked through the rest of the plan, and decided on a nearby abandoned warehouse to perform the spell.

“Why is it always abandoned warehouses?” Dean grumbled. “Why is it never the suite of a five star hotel?” Cas smiled at him, before he placed two fingers on his and Sam’s foreheads, and transported them to the barn.

They arrived in the barn, and found that Cas had bought the table from the motel too. Sam immediately pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and began to draw a large circle on the ground. From the other pocket he produced a brass compass that he flicked open and began to check the direction they were facing. Cas went over to help Sam scrawl different symbols at each compass point.

When they had finished, Sam walked over to Dean and grabbed him, dragging him into a sudden hug. Dean hugged him back fiercely. There was much in that hug that went unsaid. ‘I love you’, ‘be safe’, ‘I’ll watch over you’. Sam eventually broke free, clapped his brother on the shoulder and strode determinedly to the middle of the circle. “Can you bring me everything on the table?” he asked.

Dean and Cas carefully transported everything, passing each item to Sam, who placed the cauldron in the center of the circle, and  placed the other items around it; three concentric circles were formed by the cauldron, the ingredients and the chalk circle. Finally, Dean passed Sam the purple paper bag. Sam pulled more items from inside it - a candle, a silver chalice and a bottle of water, an empty glass wrapped in a yellow ribbon, and another glass jar filled with dirt with a green ribbon wrapped around it. Sam placed the earth at North, the chalice at West, which he filled with the water, air at East, and the candle at South. He muttered under his breath as he did so, too low for Dean to make out the words. Sam started patting down his pockets until Dean produced his silver lighter and lit the candle. Sam nodded gratefully, still murmuring the incantation. As Sam finished, a pale yellow haze formed at the boundary of the circle, rising up over Sam’s head like a bubble.

Dean gasped at the first obvious sign that Sam could indeed do magic, but quickly stamped on his hope that this might just work. Dean squeezed Cas’ hand gently to let him know that he was glad that Cas was here with them.

Sam took a deep breath. “I’m ready to start now.”

“Okay, Sammy. We’re here. Whatever happens, we’re here,” Dean said.

“I know.” Sam gave them a smile that was supposed to be confident, but was a little shaky to Dean’s practiced gaze.

Sam knelt beside the cauldron and opened Deanna’s book of shadows to the page with the spell on it. “A thabhairt ar na lasracha.” Sam said the first words slowly, carefully forming each  in the unfamiliar language. He paused as the cauldron suddenly burned bright, sending up orange flames from within it. “An bronntanas radharc a thabhairt mé chun tú tríd an cloch,” Sam continued. He picked up the tigers eye and dropped it into the cauldron, and the flames flared yellow, like the reflection of light within the eye of a tiger. “I bronntanas tú an bhlaosc ionas gur féidir leat a chloisteáil arís.” The conch shell glittered in the yellow firelight as Sam picked it up, and Dean swore he could hear the music of the ocean from when Cas had touched his handprint in the sea. Sam fed it to the flames, which burnt bright blue, like the water he and Cas had swum in just days ago. “Beidh an blas an pie shásamh go deo leat.” Dean grinned, recognizing at least one of the words Sam had said. His smile fell as Sam scraped the pie from the dish and into the flames. It seemed like a waste of one of the best pies he had ever made; at least it was for a good cause.

The flames swirled between light green and deep red, like the first apple of the season ripening slowly on the tree. “Is é an boladh an púdar ó arm cumhachtach go leor chun dúisigh na marbh.” Sam selected the tin of colt gunpowder and peeled open the lid to reveal the black powder. Dean suddenly had the thought that adding gunpowder to a fire might not be such a good idea. Cas obviously had the same thought because as Sam moved to pour the powder into the flames, he moved to stand in front of Dean, shielding him from any blast. Dean tried to shove him aside so he could see what was happening, but Cas was immovable. All they heard was a faint pop, and as Cas stepped aside they could see that the flames were burning black. The  acrid smell of a fired gun hung in the air, but nothing exploded. Cas took Dean’s hand again, ignoring his glare.

“Tá an silver curtha treasured agus i dteagmháil léi le máthair agus mac.” Sam chose the silver bracelet, and Dean felt a pang of regret as he watched one of the few possessions from his mom be consumed by the flames. This time the flames turned a deep red, like the crayon a child would choose when drawing a heart. “Mé a thabhairt duit mo chroí agus a bhfuil sé mo ghrá.” The whole rose quartz heart was next. It twinkled and glittered in the firelight as Sam held it up before adding it to the cauldron. The flames turned a deep pink, and a beautiful smell reached Dean. It smelt like talcum powder, the bubble bath his mom had used to pour into the tub when he was little, and her perfume. It immediately brought Dean the memory of his mom lifting him from the tub and wrapping him in a huge, fluffy towel. It was a memory he had not known he still had, and it brought tears to his eyes. “Tá píosa beag bídeach de ghrásta aingeal le séala an plé, briseadh an litrithe agus seol ar ais go dtí a áit bás.” Sam finally picked up the jewelry box - the last ingredient, imbued with Cas’ grace - and added it to the flames. They waited with bated breath, but nothing happened. The flames remained stubbornly pink when they should have changed color to reflect the final ingredient.

Cas took in a shaky breath. “It wasn’t enough grace,” he whispered. Dean wasn’t surprised. He had instinctively known that something this big was not as easy as just gathering a few ingredients. Dean immediately knew what was needed of him. He knew how much grace he was imbued with, and had suspected that there would be a price to pay with the spell. Well, it was time to save the world again.

Dean turned to Cas and grabbed his shoulders.

“I love you, more than anything. I hope that what you said to me on the beach is true, but in case it isn’t - here, take this.” Dean pulled the polaroid from the bar out of his pocket and placed it in Cas’ hand firmly. “We’ll keep our love in this photograph. We’ll always be together in here. Keep it safe, and wait for me to come home.” Dean kissed Cas firmly, then stepped away from him. Cas went to grab his arm, but stopped himself, which Dean was glad about. Saying goodbye to Cas and not knowing if he would see him again was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he would do it. For Bobby, and for the world.

Dean stepped into the circle, shattering the golden light, but he wasn’t worried about sealing in the magic. He sensed that it would need to get out to free death anyway.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam said as he crouched on the other side of the cauldron.

“Sammy, you make sure that Death saves Bobby.” Dean didn’t answer Sam’s question directly, just shoved both hands into the flames of the cauldron before his brother had a chance to stop him.

The flames didn’t burn hot. They burnt **cold**. Dean screamed as Cas’ grace pulled away from the handprint on his arm and flooded out through his fingertips. As the first shimmering white light left him, Dean felt a tugging sensation that went straight to his core. A golden light was entwined in with the white; his soul so intertwined with the angelic grace that the spell did not know the difference, did not know which one it was supposed to be taking, so it was taking both. As the pulling increased, and the light was dragged from him faster and faster, Dean’s vision began to darken. The last thing he saw was Castiel standing on the outside of the circle, clutching a small photograph in one hand, the other reaching out towards Dean.

***

Dean could see nothing but white when he woke. For a long moment he wondered if the spell had taken his sight, but his vision began to clear, blurry at first, but sharpening quickly. Dean was on an old wooden bench nestled among beautiful white roses in a well-tended garden. His eyes fell on a second bench a few feet further into the garden, where another person was sitting, looking at him and smiling gently. Dean blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, before he groaned loudly and covered his eyes with his hands.

“Oh man, Cas is going to kill me!” Dean exclaimed loudly, before wincing at his own choice of words, as he lowered his hands back to his lap and stared across the garden.

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” Mary Winchester said, with a proud smile.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't send hell hounds after me...


	16. A Rose Blooming in Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long to post, particularly with leaving it on that cliff hanger! Turns out moving house and not having internet makes it difficult to post things!

The flames did not change color. Cas stood, gripping Dean's hand tightly to keep him from interfering with Sam and the spell as per Sam's request. After a few seconds he realized the problem.

"It wasn't enough grace." Cas' mind whirled, thinking about what he could retrieve that might be enough. Perhaps a branch of his oak tree? A small voice deep inside his mind kept showing him a picture of a glowing handprint, but he stomped on that piece, hard. He would not, he could not ask that of Dean.

Then Dean was in front of him, gripping his shoulders, and Cas saw in his eyes that Dean had realized the same thing. Cas wanted to shout at Dean, to transport him away and keep him safe, but he knew in his heart that sacrifice for the greater good was at the core of the man he loved. To deny him that would be to deny who Dean was. Cas had fallen in love with the Righteous man after all.

Cas knew he would walk to the ends of the earth, and the end of heaven and hell if necessary, to be reunited with Dean. But there was still so much to see on earth that it broke Cas’ heart that Dean would give any of that up.

“I love you, more than anything. I hope that what you said to me on the beach is true, but in case it isn’t - here, take this.” Cas took the Polaroid that Dean was offering, he didn't need to look at it to know what it was. He could not look away from Dean's face, had not had enough time to finish counting the constellation of freckles scattered across his face. He needed more time.

“We’ll keep our love in this photograph. We’ll always be together in here. Keep it safe, and wait for me to come home.” Dean kissed Cas firmly. Cas melted into the kiss hoping it would never end. But eventually, inevitably, Dean broke away. Cas saw loss and regret in Dean's face before it became a mask of resolve and he stepped away. Cas moved to grab Dean's arm, to steal him away against his better judgment, but he stopped himself, hating himself for it even though he knew it was the only way.

Dean stepped into the circle, effectively shattering its protection, but it didn't matter now. Cas could not watch the love of his life sacrifice himself. Instead he looked at the picture of the two of them together, falling into the memory of their dancing around each other in the bar, before acknowledging what they meant to each other. It had been the beginning of the best time of Cas existence, and if that was the best, then this was the worst. Dean's scream of pain chilled Cas to the core, and he could not stop himself. He moved closer to the circle. It took all his strength not to pull Dean away. His arms were engulfed in flame and the pearly white light of Cas' grace was streaming out of his arms.

Something was wrong. Cas looked more closely and saw fragments of Dean's soul being pulled out along with the grace. As the iridescent white began to slow, the gold increased, and  Cas shouted in horror as he watched Dean's soul follow the grace into the cauldron. Cas instinctively reached out, the desire to help Dean too strong to contain, but he stopped when Dean met his eyes. Cas could do nothing but stare, as the light faded from those beautiful forest green eyes.

Dean slumped forward as the spell released him, collapsing to the ground. The flames in the cauldron finally, inevitably, changed to an opal white, shimmering with specks of gold. Sam moved from where he sat, frozen, and went to shake Dean's body, trying to rouse him.

"Sam, you must finish the spell," Cas said, numbly.

Sam looked at him, disbelieving. "But, Dean..?"

"Your brother gave himself to the spell to free those souls, to save people. If you don't finish the spell, his sacrifice will have been wasted. I cannot allow that to happen. Finish the spell, Sam." Cas felt the power crackle around him as he struggled to contain his grace within the tiny vessel in his agitation. Sam gave him a pained look, but moved away from Dean.

"Bás, saor in aisce mé tú ó do bpríosún, Bás, saor in aisce mé tú ó do bpríosún, Bás, saor in aisce mé tú ó do bpríosún." Sam blew out the candle that had been placed at  the southern point of the circle. The instant it went out a golden pillar of light erupted from the cauldron, shooting up through the roof of the barn. The spell had worked, and Death should be free. Cas immediately strode through the circle to place a finger on Sam's forehead and a caressing hand against Dean's,  ignoring the feeling of cooling flesh beneath his hand.

Cas effortlessly moved the three of them through the ether and back to Bobby’s house. He left  Sam beside Bobby's bed, a sigil pressed onto his wide forehead to enable him to see and speak with Death when he came for Bobby’s soul.. Dean was lowered gently into place on the bed he always slept in when they visited Bobby's; the bed where Cas had curled within Dean's pendant and listened to his heart beating. It was not long ago, but it felt like eons had passed.

Next, Cas went to the house of the witch in Normal, Illinois to check that the spell had indeed been successful. The house looked as though it had been left to decay, abandoned decades ago. The roof had mostly fallen in along with  some of the first floor , windows were shattered and lay in pieces on the ground. Death could not be fully contained, and the effects had seeped from the circle and out into the house. The hole in the roof showed that the glowing golden spell had arrived, as did the lack of reapers crowding in around the house. But Cas was thorough, he appeared in the basement, and saw that each layer of the circle had been blackened and burnt away leaving only a sticky residue. Cas checked in the bedroom, and found only a pair of skeletons among the moldering remains of a bed. The soul of the husband had already been taken. Death was free to do  his work again.

Cas turned his thoughts to finding Dean. He could not follow their connection; it had been broken on the removal of Cas' grace from Dean's arm. He had to do this the old fashioned way.

The hub of heaven was full of  celestial wavelengths vibrating with a pleasant sense of home and belonging. If Dean had been here he would have seen it as a large desk with a pretty blonde angel behind it, wearing a headset and typing away furiously on a type writer.

"Jegudiel, good day to you," Castiel said politely. "I seek a human soul, could you tell me if it has entered the heavenly realms?"

"Good day to you, Castiel. Pray tell me the name of the human, and I shall see what I can find for you."

"His name is Dean Winchester." Castiel almost expected some reaction to the name, expected that the heavenly host had heard about his adventures and would be shocked by them. Jegudiel just gave a small nod and turned to look in the filing cabinet that appeared behind her. After a  few seconds of rifling, she pulled out  a thin brown file and returned to her desk. She read quickly through the file, and then nodded once to herself and once to Castiel.

"He passed through the golden gates exactly 33 minutes and 23 seconds ago in earth time. However, he has not yet made it to his door. I am therefore unable to determine his exact location."

Cas let out a sigh of relief. Finding Dean in heaven if he had not yet reached his personal heaven was a challenge, but at least he was here and not in hell. "Well, at least that is a start. My thanks, Jegudiel." The other angel nodded again, and returned to tapping away on her type writer.

Cas thought through the memories he had witnessed through Dean's necklace, and tried to consider where he might be. He had an idea of who could help him.

"Jegudiel, my apologies for disturbing you again." The angel looked up, face neutral.

"Could you please direct me to the heaven of Ash Miles?" Castiel said.

A flash of annoyance passed Jegudiel's face. "That renegade? What do you want with him?"

"He is an old friend of the soul that I seek. He may have an idea of where he is." Jegudiel rolled her eyes, but held out her hand, palm facing up, waiting. Cas placed his own hand over hers, and the knowledge of the route to get to Ash was passed to him. Cas followed and found himself in a heavenly replica of the bar he could name as the Roadhouse, having seen it in Dean's memories.

Ash looked up from his computer which was perched on a series of beer crates.

“You’re new. Here to try and shut me down again are you?” He said casually, leaning back and folding his arms.

“I’m not here to do anything to you. I’m here to ask for your help. I am a…friend of Dean Winchester.” Cas stuttered over how to refer to himself, not knowing what Dean would want an old friend to know.

“Dean! How is the old dude doing?” Ash said as he stood and strode over to clap a hand on Cas’ arm.

“He is… missing, at the moment. He was involved in a spell that stole his soul and sent it to heaven prematurely. I am here to retrieve him, but as he has not made it to his personal heaven yet, the bureaucrats have not tracked where he is. I was hoping you might…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, anything for my old friend Dean,” Ash interrupted, walking back to his computer. “It’s funny that an angel has come to me for help when their own sources don’t work. Do you know how many times your associates have tried to shut me down?”

Cas nodded. “Dean has been teaching me about free will. It is a concept that remains foreign to many of my brethren.”

Ash continued to type at his keyboard whilst Cas was talking. “He’s not with Ellen, or...” He tapped away, “or John, although that’s not a surprise. Ah ha. There you are. Should have guessed really, there isn’t that much that can divert a soul, but a mother’s love would do it.”

“Dean is with Mary.” Cas stated, not at all surprised now that he knew the answer. Ash nodded.

“Do you know where her heaven is?” Ash asked.

“Not directly. I could return to the desk,” Cas said, frustrated at having to make another stop on his route to Dean.

“Nah, man. I got you.” Ash walked over to the back door of the bar, and picked up a much used piece of chalk from next to it. He drew a sigil on the door with a practiced hand. The sigil immediately began to glow white, and the smell of apple pie, talcum powder, and roses filled the air.

“Step through here and you’ll find mama and son Winchester.”

Cas stepped forward and rested a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help. I understand why my brothers and sisters wish to shut you down, but I hope that you carry on for a very long time.”

“No worries dude. Stop by again some time.” Cas nodded in reply and stepped into the glowing light.

***

Cas stepped out into a blooming rose garden. He was not overwhelmed by the glowing light as Dean had been. It was just the difference in tone that reminded him that he was in heaven, not on earth. Cas’ eyes fell on a wooden bench and smiled broadly. Dean was sitting on the bench, with an arm around his mother, who had a returning arm wrapped around Dean. Their heads were bent together and they were talking nineteen to the dozen, catching up on the years that had been so cruelly taken from them. They were a beautiful sight, the man that he loved and his mother, both souls so familiar and dear to him. Cas could see within Mary’s soul the girl that he had once watched over, but also delighted in seeing the additional layers and colors that had been added since he had known her.

It occurred to Cas that if there was no supernatural world, if Mary had not been so cruelly taken away, this might have been a sight he got to see every Sunday for dinner at the home of his parents in law. It made Cas’ heart hurt. Then he was overwhelmed by the urge to sweep Dean into his arms and shower him in kisses, before possibly punching him for daring to leave him behind. Cas didn’t want to interrupt the scene before him, but he did not want to offend Dean by continuing to spy, so he said quietly but clearly; “Hello, Dean.”

Both of the souls on the bench whirled around, hunter reflexes still evident in them both. Dean broke into the most beautiful smile Cas had ever seen, and stood quickly.

“Cas! Come meet my mom.” Cas walked towards the benches, but Dean couldn’t seem to wait for him to get there, striding forward and enveloping Cas in a hug. Cas melted into him. He felt all of the stress that had built in the last few moments – which had felt like a lifetime - drain away as he was reunited with the man that he loved. He pulled back a little so he could look into the eyes that he had worried he would never see again.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” Cas said, grabbing the tops of Dean’s arms and shaking him a little.

“Aw, Cas. I didn’t know you cared.” Dean smirked at him, before closing the gap and kissing him hard. Cas was just about to deepen the kiss with wild abandon, when he remembered Dean’s mom was standing only a few meters away. He broke away, but flashed Dean a smile that promised more later.

“You were going to introduce me to your mother.” Dean started a little, and flushed. He took Cas’ hand and turned towards Mary, holding on tightly.

“Mom, this is Cas.” Mary beamed at them both, and Dean shifted a little, still embarrassed. Cas realized that he was the first lover that Dean had ever been able to introduce to Mary. He felt immensely proud to have this unique opportunity, even as he hated the circumstances that brought them here. Cas held out his right hand to Mary, as Dean had taught him was polite. He stepped forward whilst still maintaining his hold on Dean.

“It is good to see you again and meet you properly, Mary.” Mary ignored Cas’ outstretched hand, and pulled him in for a tight hug. Cas breathed a more concentrated version of the apple pie, roses, talcum powder scent he had smelt as he entered Mary’s heaven, and was immediately transported back to the time he spent within an inherited jewelry box all that time ago.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Cas. Dean has told me all about you. And I understand I have to thank you for watching over me when I was growing up. I used to read aloud to my imaginary friend, and I am glad to finally meet him.”

Mary released Cas, but only briefly, as she extended her arm and pulled Dean into hug both of them at once.

“My boys. I’m so proud of you both. I am glad that you found each other.” When she finally let go of them, they were all misty eyed. Mary pulled them over to sit on the bench together. “Now, I want you to tell me everything I have missed.”

 

 


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. Thank you to everyone for bearing with me, and still reading to the end. 
> 
> Final comments and thanks at the end of the chapter.

It felt like days, or perhaps lifetimes later, when Dean stopped in the middle of a story about a particularly bloody hunt and exclaimed, “Sammy!”

Mary looked a little sad as she nodded. “I’m being selfish keeping you here. You need to go and take care of my baby boy. And you and Cas need to go and have a lifetime together.”

Dean shook his head in denial. “I don’t want to leave you, Mom. I’ve only just got you back.”

Mary placed a gentle hand on Dean’s knee. “You’re needed on earth, son of mine. I love you, and I’ll look forward to seeing you again one day, a long time from now, when you can tell me about the rest of your life. You can tell me about your retirement from hunting, marrying Cas, having children. Whatever you choose to do, you can tell me all about it and I will be proud of you.” Tears began to flow freely from Mary, but she smiled through them, telling Dean that everything would be ok.

Dean nodded, tears welling up in his own eyes, but he held them back, putting on a brave face as he always had. Mary pulled Dean in for one last hug, and Dean clung to her, not wanting to let go. She reluctantly moved away and then held her arms out to Cas, who stepped in to receive his own farewell hug.

“Take care of my boy, Cas, and make sure he treats you right. I expect to hear about grandchildren one day.”

“Yes ma’am.” Cas ducked his head and grinned at Mary as she stepped away. “Perhaps I could come back and visit every so often, until Dean is able to come himself?”

Tears overflowed from Mary’s eyes again, so much like Dean’s own. “I would like that very much.”

“Until next time then,” Cas said, nodding as he stepped away. “Are you ready, Dean?” Dean nodded at Cas, too choked up to be able to speak. Cas wrapped a hand around the top of Dean’s left arm. Dean grabbed hold of Cas in return, his right hand wrapping around Cas’ left, forming a circle with their bodies.

Cas gave Dean a fleeting kiss. “Just a short flight. Hold on tight,” Cas said, as heaven faded away and there was only darkness.

***

Dean woke,  dragging a sharp breath into long still lungs as he sat up and opened his eyes. He was in the bed in Bobby’s spare room and Cas was perched next to him, smiling happily. Without hesitation Dean threw his arms around Cas, burying his head in his shoulder, overwhelmed with emotion. He was glad to be back, but he felt filled with grief at having to leave his mom behind, losing her all over again.

A polite cough brought Dean back to himself as he realized that they were not alone. Dean sat back, and Cas shifted to reveal a figure in the chair in the corner of the room, bony fingers curled around a silver ball at the top of a long black cane.

“Dean Winchester,” the figure said. Dean heard the rustling of ancient tomes and banging of tomb doors behind his words. He shook his head to clear his ears and cursed his overactive imagination.

“Dean, this is Death. He helped me to bring you back and wanted to stay to meet you,” Cas said tentatively.

Dean let out a nervous laugh and jumped to his feet, embarrassed to be in bed in front of a stranger. “Say that again, Cas. Because I’m sure you said that this is Death.”

The man stood as well. He was dark haired, tall and very skinny, and dressed all in black, apart from the  brown and oak-gold tie around his neck, which brought to mind the colors of a coffin.

“Yes, Dean. I am Death; The Grim Reaper, Thanatos, La Santa Muerte. I have been known by many names.” Death held out a hand, which Dean went to shake on instinct, but stopped as a thought occurred to him.

“You’re not going to take my soul away with the touch of your hand, are you? Because I just got back.”

Death gave him a tiny smile. “I just brought you back. It would seem foolish for me to take your soul again so soon. I just wished to thank you for your role in freeing me. Containment was starting to become… inconvenient.”

“No worries Man, all part of the service.” Dean covered his fear with  his trademark cheeky grin. A thought occurred to him. “My friend, Bobby…”

“Is already healed. I believe he is downstairs muttering about me damaging his plants by my mere presence,” Death said. Dean laughed out loud. That was Bobby alright, especially as there were no plants on his property except the occasional weed.

“Well, I must be going. Business to attend to, as I’m sure you can understand. I have already been away for too long.” Dean nodded, trying not to appear too eager. “I will see you again one day, Dean. Try not to make is too soon.”

“Sure, man. I’ll have pizza waiting.” Death nodded regally, and was gone. Dean sagged with relief, and suddenly his angel was there, wrapping himself around him. Dean grabbed him back, and kissed him thoroughly.

Cas broke off. “We should go and let Sam and Bobby know that you are well.”

“Just a few more minutes won’t kill them. Ha, kill them. That’s funny, right?” Cas just stared at him. “Too soon?” Cas rolled his eyes and went back to kissing him. Suddenly there were too many layers between them, as they undressed each other Cas froze, breaking away to stare at Dean’s arm.

Dean looked down, and there, at the top of his arm was a new, red, hand print. Cas was staring at him with horror on his face as he realized he had once again marked him. Only this time Dean realized there was something different about Cas too.

He burst out laughing. “Cas, it’s ok. We match now, look.” Dean touched Cas’ left arm, where a golden handprint was now glowing on Cas’ angelic skin. Cas looked down at his arm, then looked back at Dean with shining eyes. “Looks like we’re the most important thing in each other’s universe now. Thank you for bringing me home.” Dean placed a hand over his own handprint, reflected on Cas’ arm, feeling the little piece of him respond to his touch. “I love you.”

“I know” Cas said, as he bought his hand up and placed it over Dean’s handprint. Their bond ignited with full force.  Dean could see the shadow of Cas’ wings curl around them, and he could hear the duet of his soul and Cas’ grace singing out their joy.

 

The End

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this fic.
> 
> Thank you to Linoresearch for her excellent beta skills throughout and her patience while both of us had a lot of stuff going on in real life. Also, she has a new fic out which is awesome, so go read it if you aren't already! Linky
> 
> Thank you also to Acehardy03 for introducing me to the SPN fandom in the first place, for providing alpha support and being all round awesome.
> 
> Would love to hear what you thought of the fic so please do leave a comment :) :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. Love kudos and comments!!
> 
> You can also come find me on Twitter & Tumblr
> 
> Tumblr: seagreen27  
> Twitter: spn_sea_green


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